


Enduring Echoes

by MzMinola



Series: Serpensortia [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, Gen, Gore, Implied underage drinking, Inter-House Friendships, Past Character Death, Severus Snape's Adventures With Cognitive Dissonance, Slytherin Harry, Slytherin House, Swearing, Wrongful Imprisonment, anti-Muggle bigotry, disturbing imagery, just in one chapter and I will give a heads up when we get there, lots of supporting characters, post war politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 89,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6428608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MzMinola/pseuds/MzMinola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta alexmaybe, to my bro, to ShadowEtienne for name help, and to everyone who contributes to the fan wikis; every Hogwarts student appearing in this fic is from the books, movies, videogames, or Pottermore.
> 
> Dumbledore’s beginning-of-year speech and Lupin’s dementor speech are taken directly from canon. Several other pieces of dialogue were as well (such as Marge’s comments) and some of the letters are a mix of canon and modified text.

A dull red stone tower sat atop a low rise at the base of the Lammermuir Hills. The tower had a great number of heavy red bricks scattered around it, perhaps the remnants of another tower, as this one was quite intact, and quite sturdy. Today, a fat brown tabby cat lay on one of the crenelations, enjoying the warmth of the morning sun. This would not surprise anyone passing by (though few people ever did pass by) as cats went where they pleased, and did not care for such things as the  _ Condemned, Keep Out _ sign tied to a rusted iron chain wrapped all the way around the base of the tower.

They might be surprised by the tall, silver-haired woman visible through one of the wide windows on the top story, and the eagle owl that landed on a wooden perch next to her. Or by the fact that she removed a small, embossed envelope from the pouch on the owl’s leg, before giving it a dead mouse the tabby cat had presented her that morning. They would most  _ certainly _ be surprised by the sight of the woman, a few minutes later, walking out of the tower and through the chains over the doorway as though they weren’t there.

But, as we have established, very few people ever did pass by, and Liwei Lin walked down the winding sheep path to the sprawling, three-winged house set into the base of the hill with only her own thoughts for company. The eagle owl helped itself to water in the tower’s basin (fed from a collecting pipe on the roof, and kept clean with magic) and flew off again. Liwei paused to watch it fly south, a slight frown slowly replaced with a look of determination.

“Adrian?” Liwei called, after locking the porter’s door hidden by an overgrown rose bush behind her. No answer. Liwei sighed, and went looking for her young relative. Adrian was her cousin Zhiwei’s granddaughter but  _ niece _ was how she thought of her. Liwei had always felt Zhiwei was her sister in all but name; you didn’t spend nearly three decades travelling the world and breaking curses together without getting close.

Not in the kitchen, not in her bedroom, not in the parlor. Adrian’s broomstick  _ and _ hiking boots were still in the mudroom, so she couldn’t be out in the hills. The other two wings were still locked up; surely she wasn’t foolhardy enough to visit the  _ attic _ . Even if she  _ was _ , apparently, foolhardy enough to anger Lucius Malfoy, of all people.

Liwei rubbed at her temples.  _ Where- _

The sound of rustling paper caught her ear from down the hall. Liwei smiled, and quietly made her way to the Vouched Library. Unlike the Cursed Library in the South Wing, and the Unknown Library in the North Wing, every book, pamphlet, map, and miscellaneous informational item in the Vouched Library was sure to be uncursed. Quite a few tomes had been made safe by Liwei herself, at Alvie’s request.

There was Adrian. Sprawled across a long, brown leather couch pushed against the bay window, Adrian was deeply engrossed in that morning’s Daily Prophet, mug of tea resting on the wide windowsill. The headline read  **_GILDEROY LOCKHART: HERO OR HOAX?_ ** and there was a photo of the blonde wizard trying to cover his face as he ducked into Ollivander’s wand shop.

“Adrian,” Liwei said. Her niece looked up with grin, shaking the paper.

“Did you see?” she asked excitedly. “Gemma finally got all her interviews together, they’ve got all the discrepancies from his books listed on the back page, and the main article says he’s under investigation by the Ministry-”

“Adrian, it’s  _ today _ ,” Liwei interjected, replacing the paper in Adrian’s hands with the embossed envelope. Lips snapping shut into a tight line, Adrian pulled the square of vellum out, reading it over quickly.

“Four o’clock high tea, huh?” she said finally. “You want me to get wood for the Floo?”

“Yes,” Liwei said, as Adrian swung herself off the couch. “I’ll finish up today’s tonic, and then we have  _ many _ more preparations to make.”

Adrian grimaced at the mention of the foul-tasting potion. Liwei had half-brewed a large cauldron of a generalized anti-poison tonic at the beginning of the summer, when Adrian told her of freeing Dobby, and completed a small dose every day for Adrian and herself to drink. It tasted like molding oatmeal.

The rest of the morning passed in meticulous preparation. Adrian pulled on her boots and tromped out to the woodshed several times, bringing back armfuls of firewood. She stacked them in the entrance hall, next to the large fireplace that was connected to the Floo network. She also unlocked and scrubbed the huge double-doors that let out into the short drive (no one ever used them, but it was the  _ look _ of the thing that counted) and oiled the two suits of armor that flanked it. All that was left after that was setting the table for tea, and making sure none of the food had spoiled.

Liwei administered the tonic to both of them after lunch, and slipped a bezoar into Adrian’s hand. “Just in case he brings something unusual.”

“Should we put the chess photo up in the dining room?” Adrian asked, the stone heavy on her palm.

“I’ll get it,” Liwei said. The photo of Adrian’s mother and Lucius Malfoy playing chess was the one grain of truth in the handful of lies Adrian had thrown at Malfoy, bluffing him into freeing his family’s house elf. It wouldn’t do  _ anything _ to sooth his wrath, but it  _ would _ remind him that he had more to lose by making this incident public than they did. “You go make yourself presentable, before I start the wards.”

Adrian glanced down at herself; old jeans and a denim button-up shirt were practical for exploring the local hills and hauling firewood, but they would be considered an insult if worn to tea with a Malfoy. The sweat and grime she’d acquired over the morning didn’t help either. Adrian nodded, and vanished up the stairs; Liwei heard the shower running a moment later.

By three-thirty, they were both clad in linen robes suitable for the summer heat, and going over the final pieces of protection in the dining hall. A fire roared in the entrance hall, making it easier for Malfoy to leave; anyone could arrive on the empty hearth through the Floor network, but it took active flames to depart, and Liwei wanted nothing to slow down Malfoy’s exit.

“When I let go, swallow this whole, don’t chew,” Liwei instructed. Adrian nodded and opened her mouth; Liwei pressed the rowan berry to the middle of Adrian’s tongue, and recited her most reliable warding spell. She let go. Adrian swallowed, and took a deep breath.

“Is that everything?”

“Let me check your arms again,” Liwei said, and Adrian obligingly raised her arms to shake down the long, loose sleeves of her robe, exposing the complicated string knots just above her elbows. Liwei studied them for a long moment, and smiled fiercely. “Good. He’d need a lot more than a  _ wand _ get something fatal or irreversible on you now, save for the Killing Curse itself.” She and Adrian automatically rapped their knuckles on the wooden table at her mention of the Killing Curse.

“We can’t just close the curtains and pretend we’re not home, can we?” Adrian asked, voice light and face distressed. She dropped her arms, letting the dark green linen of her robes hide the knots once more.

“No.” Liwei placed her hand on Adrian’s cheek, remembering this same anxious face coming home from her first year at Hogwarts, trying to hide her poor scores from the end-of-term exams. “Vengeance is as terrible when it is simmering from delay as it is when impulsive. But if you delay this encounter, I may not be here to help.”

“I know,” Adrian said, dropping her head down, cheek sliding away from Liwei’s hand. “I know. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” Liwei said, as the light from the entrance hall suddenly flared brighter. “He might decide  _ not _ to curse a teenage girl for tricking him out of a servant, after all.”

Adrian snorted, and got up to greet their ill-tempered guest.


	2. Journey's Only Just Begun

Harry heaved his trunk down the street, hot fury bleeding out in the cold night air.

_ They died in a car crash, you nasty little liar, and left you a burden on your decent, hardworking relatives _ -

A fresh wave of anger at Aunt Marge got Harry the last few blocks to the bus stop, and he sat down, exhausted, on his school trunk. He read the schedule by the streetlamp’s light, shoulders slumping down in relief. There was still one more bus of the night; he could still get to the station. Did it even matter if there was a train running or not? At least he wouldn’t be stuck in Privet Drive.

After fumbling a bit with the locks, Harry dug his money pouch out of his trunk; a handful of Muggle coins remained from last summer. Hands shaking, he dropped a few on the sidewalk, swearing as he picked them back up. At least his jacket was still at the top of all the school junk. Harry shrugged into it, shoving the coins in one pocket, before closing and relocking the trunk. When he looked up again, an enormous shaggy black dog was staring at him from across the street.

_ This one’s got a mean, runty look about him. You get that with dogs. I had Colonel Fubster drown one last year. Ratty little thing it was. Weak. Underbred _ .

“You’re certainly not underbred,” Harry muttered, eyeing the strange dog. It seemed to take his comment as an invitation, and trotted over. Harry froze, alarmed. He’d just spent a week with Marge’s temperamental French bulldog, memory of it chasing him up a tree when he was small bursting to the front of his mind whenever it growled.

This dog was evidently more like Fang, though; it flopped over on its back once it reached Harry, tongue lolling out, and whined.

“Well that’s friendly,” Harry said, reaching out and rubbing its belly before his common sense could catch up. This was a strange dog, out alone with no collar and no other people in sight. What if it didn’t  _ like _ being petted? What if it bit him? But the dog wiggled on the sidewalk, tail wagging, evidently enjoying the belly rub. It hadn’t even bothered sniffing him before flopping down; maybe it didn’t have any common sense either.

_ It’s one of the basic rules of breeding. You see it all the time with dogs. If there’s something wrong with the bitch, there’ll be something wrong with the pup- _

Harry’s hand clenched around a handful of fur, and the dog yelped. “Sorry, sorry,” Harry said, as the dog rolled over and looked at him accusingly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.” The dog sat back on its haunches, and pressed its head against Harry’s hip. Harry scratched behind its ears, and the tail-wagging resumed.

Suddenly, brighter light than the streetlamp gave cut across them. Harry stood up, peering down the street; the bus was coming! Quickly, Harry got a few coins back out, and bent down to grab the handle of his trunk.

The dog was gone.

~~~

There  _ had _ turned out to be a train this late. Harry spent the ride from King’s Cross trying to plan what to do next. He’d committed an awful act of underage magic, accidentally blowing Aunt Marge up like a balloon so she was still shrieking up around the ceiling when he bolted. He’d threatened Uncle Vernon with his wand. The letter last summer promised expulsion; where was he going to go, if not Hogwarts?

His stomach rumbled. All right then, stop at the Leaky Cauldron,  _ then _ figure things out.

Things had gone pretty well over the summer, until now. With the threat of his Quidditch teammate arriving on their doorstep, the Dursleys had decided ignoring Harry was their safest option. He’d been allowed to keep his trunk in his room, let Hedwig fly free, and generally left alone. He’d done his homework in the middle of the day, lying on the floor of his room, and written letters to Hermione and Adrian. He’d even had a nice birthday, receiving a broomstick servicing kit from Hermione, a biting book from Hagrid, and a bright blue knitted hat from Adrian ( _ Cousin Cecily sent this from Peru _ , the note read.  _ She says it’s alpaca, which I thought must be in  _ Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them _ , but they’re not _ ). 

Then Vernon’s sister Marge came to visit.

Harry viciously punched the empty seat next to him, earning a startled look from one of the few other passengers. He turned his head to the window, curling up in his oversized jacket. He’d tried his best, he really had. He’d made a deal with Vernon to sign his Hogsmeade permission slip, if he didn’t let Aunt Marge figure out where he  _ really _ went to school. He’d bit his tongue when Vernon told Marge that Harry attended St. Brutus’ Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. He’d smiled when Marge said the school ought to beat him more, swallowed down retorts when she criticized his hair, his height, his knobby knees ( _ going right through those jean you give him, Petunia _ ).

He’d taken half a year of his classmates hissing nasty things in the hallways, when they thought he was the Heir of Slytherin. He could take one measly week of Marge insulting him.

_ It all comes down to blood, as I was saying the other day. Bad blood will out. _

What he couldn’t take were the insults about his mum and dad.

_ Your sister was a bad egg. They turn up in the best families. Then she ran off with a wastrel and here’s the result right in front of us. _

Harry disembarked at King’s Cross Station in a foul mood, and loaded his trunk onto a trolley. The familiar action seemed… _ off _ , somehow. Harry realized with a start that he was missing Hedwig’s cage; he must have left it back in Privet Drive. Fortunately, he’d sent the snowy owl away before Marge arrived, and he could get another cage in Diagon Alley before school started-

Except he probably wasn’t going to school, was he? Not if he got expelled for this.

Anger replaced with despondency, Harry caught a late-night train on the same line Hagrid had once taken him on. He’d get some food, get some money from his Gringott’s vault, and…what?

Still trying to figure his hazy future out, Harry walked right into another wizard when he arrived at the Leaky Cauldron.

“Sorry!” he said automatically, stepping back and hitting his heels on his trunk. He looked up into the surprised face of Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic. Oh, no. The  _ last _ time he’d seen Fudge, from under his invisibility cloak, the man had been arresting Hagrid for the petrifactions, with no evidence whatsoever. Fudge had sent Hagrid off to Azkaban without a trial; what would he do to Harry for blowing up Marge?

“Harry!” Fudge yelped. Before Harry could react, Fudge had grabbed his shoulder and pulled him into the Leaky Cauldron, trunk coming along too. “Tom, I’ve found him, he’s all right!”

Soon settled in a private parlor (Harry hadn’t even known the Leaky Cauldron  _ had _ private parlors) Harry was fed tea, biscuits, and as far as he could tell, a  _ whopping _ pack of lies. The Ministry didn’t expel people from Hogwarts for accidentally inflating their aunts? There wasn’t anything to worry about, but please don’t go out into Muggle London again? The Dursleys were perfectly happy to have him back next summer?

The only thing that sounded true was that a team of wizards had undone the magic on Marge, and modified her memory to forget it all. The Ministry of Magic didn’t want Muggles finding out Harry was a wizard any more than Uncle Vernon did, and seemed rather fond of using  _ Obliviate _ to make problems go away.

Head buzzing with questions after Fudge left, Harry followed Old Tom up the stairs to the same room he’d stayed in before, and decided he’d better find out what was going on before school started again.

~~~

It was peculiar to stay in the Leaky Cauldron without Adrian. Harry found himself looking around for her at breakfast, having got used to the sight of her buzzed head sticking up over the Daily Prophet every morning, last August. But according to the letters Hedwig brought (she’d shown up after a few days in Diagon Alley, with a note asking how the visit with Marge had gone) Adrian was still at home, and wouldn’t even be down to do her school shopping until the last week of the summer holiday.

Harry saw plenty of other classmates though. Tracey Davis and Pansy Parkinson arrived together, getting their books under Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson’s watchful eyes. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan sighed over the newest model of broomstick in a shop window with Harry, and Neville Longbottom introduced Harry to his intimidating grandmother. Once Harry ducked into the Magical Menagerie when he saw the Malfoys coming down the street; Draco’s pride had been sorely wounded when Harry saved the school from the  _ real _ Heir of Slytherin, making Draco’s earlier attempts at sucking up look extremely foolish, and his father Lucius had even less reason to like Harry.

Theodore Nott, to Harry’s surprise, was also skulking around the Menagerie. He peered past Harry’s shoulder at the door as it swung shut behind him. “You didn’t see my father out there, did you?”

“Dunno,” Harry said, not having any idea what Mr. Nott looked like.

Theodore bit his lip. “He’s picking up my new robes, I’m supposed to be getting owl pellets.” He held up a bag of the avian treats, and glanced at the door again before walking over to the counter. “These, please,” he told the witch who ran the shop. “And…one of them?” Theodore pointed hopefully at the cage of curious rats next to the till. Most of them had shiny black coats, though there were a few brown piebald ones mixed in; those had blue tails.

“First time rat owner?” the witch asked. Theodore nodded, and she pulled a pamphlet out from under the counter, and a small bag of rat food. “Five Galleons for the lot, and read that pamphlet all the way through.” She smiled as Theodore carefully tucked the pamphlet and rat food into his pocket. “Now just stick your arm in here, lad, and one of them will pick you.”

The witch lifted the top of the cage, and Theodore carefully lowered his hand into it. Several rats scurried over, sniffing, and one licked his finger. “It’s soft!” Theodore exclaimed. The witch’s smile grew. The piebald rat that had licked Theodore wandered back to the other side of the cage, returning to a game of skip-rope using another rat’s tail. But a smaller black rat began climbing up Theodore’s sleeve.

“You’ll want to name her soon,” the witch said, carefully re-locking the cage as Theodore goggled at the rat exploring his robes. “These ones are supposed to come when they’re called, but you get some trouble if you just call them ‘rat’.”

“I’ll think of something good,” Theodore promised. He coaxed his new pet into one pocket, and waved good-bye to Harry.

About a week before the start of term, the answer to “why on earth was Fudge so forgiving of Harry’s misuse of magic?” was answered when Harry found a Daily Prophet someone had discarded on the counter of Tom’s bar. Harry thought it was a Muggle paper at first, recognizing the headline  **_SIRIUS BLACK STILL AT LARGE_ ** from the television back at Privet Drive, but the photo underneath moved. Curious, he flattened it down in top the counter to read.

“Give yourself nightmares, reading that,” Old Tom told him, wiping the bar down. The breakfast crowd tended to leave a lot of crumbs and syrup, which needed quick work to keep from sticking. “Nasty business.” He walked away to check the eggs boiling back in the kitchen, in preparation for lunch.

An edge of panic ran under the article’s words. No one had escaped from Azkaban before, according to the Daily Prophet, and the wizarding prison’s guards were angry; they advised anyone who saw them out looking for Sirius Black to keep their distance. Black had been imprisoned for the murder of one wizard and a dozen Muggles nearly twelve years ago, hence his presence on the television. Fudge had informed the Muggle Prime Minister, so anyone outside the magical community who spotted Black would know he was dangerous. Harry vaguely remembered the news station had claimed Black was carrying a gun, which he supposed was more likely to frighten Muggles than a wand. 

Just as he reached the end of the article, a piece of notepaper with one ripped edge fluttered down on top of the newsprint. In large, bold letters, were the words  _ SOMEONE FINALLY GET YOU READING THE NEWS, HALFPINT? _

Harry spun around so fast he nearly fell off the stool. Adrian grinned at him, a ballpoint pen tucked behind her ear, and a dark green moleskin notebook in one hand. Harry gaped at her in shock; her dark hair, usually trimmed back down once it hit an inch in length, was now hanging in a loose braid that went all the way to her hip.

Adrian flipped the notebook open and held it up to him, displaying a message already written on the first page.  _ KNOCKED OVER A CURIO CABINET _ . She turned the notebook back around, scribbled something on the next page, and held it out again. Her regular handwriting was much smaller and thinner than the first two messages.  _ ‘course that was ‘cause I got hit with a clumsiness jinx. Aunt Liwei got that one off first, but not before I wound up spotty, rainbow, twitching, sneezing, & tapdancing. _ Adrian rubbed the back of her head, wincing when she snagged her braid.

“She still starts dancing if there’s music,” an unfamiliar voice said. “But some mugwort should take care of that.” Adrian stepped to the side and gestured like a Master of Ceremonies to a tall woman dusting soot off her clothes. Harry noticed that Adrian still had soot on her soft blue robes; they must have both just arrived by Floo, using the fire in the pub Tom always kept going.

“I’m Adrian’s Aunt Liwei,” the tall woman said. She shook Harry’s hand, eyes flicking quickly to the lightning scar on his forehead, and then back to his face. “You must be Harry, it’s nice to meet you.” Like Minister Fudge, Liwei wore a Muggle business attire. But while Fudge’s grey pinstripes might’ve blended in if not for the lime green bowler, Liwei’s dark green suit was sleek and expensive enough to stand out all on it’s own. Juxtaposed over this was a heavy, brown, scarred-leather gauntlet covering most of her left arm.

What drew Harry’s attention the most, however, was her wand, on prominent display in an emerald-studded silver sheath hung from a matching belt. Most people kept their wands in their pockets, or up their sleeves; Harry had never seen someone flaunt their power like this before.

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Harry said. Letting go of his hand, Liwei drew a pair of bronze shears from her jacket pocket, and snipped off the braid just past Adrian’s shoulders. The severed lock turned to dust and blew away, leaving an elastic hair tie in Liwei’s hand. She immediately re-braided what was left of Adrian’s oddly long hair tightly, and secured it with the elastic.

“What happened to your voice?” Harry asked, because surely Adrian wouldn’t be bothering with the notebook if she didn’t have to.

“We had a guest accuse Adrian of…” Liwei trailed off, and turned to her niece. “How did he phrase it?”

Adrian rolled her eyes and held her hand up, smacking her thumb against the other fingers several times.

“Ah, thank you. Of  _ running her mouth _ .” Liwei ran her hand down Adrian’s braid fondly. “And then warned her to  _ watch her step _ . Two very effective curses when combined, and I imagine he meant to do more, considering how mad he was when the ottomans chased him back to the fireplace.”

“Ottomans?” Harry asked. Adrian drew a rough sketch of squashily square cushions with little legs, with one side’s seams opened up to reveal pointy teeth.

“The house doesn’t take well to underage family members being hexed,” Liwei said, with a vicious smile Harry had seen on Adrian’s face a few times.

“Madam Lin!” Old Tom had come back from the kitchen, and beamed at the new guests. Adrian hastily shoved the notebook and pen into her pocket. “It’s been too long. Do you have time for a cuppa?”

“Always time for you, Tom,” Liwei said, sliding smoothly onto an empty stool. “Adrian, why don’t you get your school things with Harry, and meet me at the apothecary? Here, you’d better take these.” She handed Adrian the bronze shears. Adrian nodded, and pushed Harry out to the back. A quick tap of her wand on the proper brick, and they were both out on the cobbles of Diagon Alley.

“It’s not permanent, is it?” Harry asked quietly. Adrian shook her head, waving one hand. Her braid  swung around and smacked her on the nose; it was already an inch or so longer than it had been after being cut.

Harry glanced around to make sure no one was in hearing distance, and lowered his voice. “Was it Mr. Malfoy?” Adrian nodded, and ruffled his hair. She pulled the notebook out of her pocket and jotted down another message while they walked.  _ Don’t think he’ll do anything else, it’ll look bad for him if my family raises a stink. He’s already on the list of people Liwei won’t uncurse things for now _ . Adrian covered the note up with more ink once Harry had read it. Even without naming Malfoy, she evidently considered it sensitive information.

The shopkeepers were very understanding when Adrian held up her  _ KNOCKED OVER A CURIO CABINET _ message, and quickly fetched the items on her school list. At Flourish & Blott’s, the clerk who’d defended Adrian from rude patrons last summer patted her sympathetically on the shoulder, and went to extract a copy of  _ The Monster Book of Monsters _ from the cage in the front window. Unfortunately, the clerk’s grip wasn’t very good; the gnashing book made a leap for Adrian’s braid and sunk its papery teeth into her hair.

“Oh bugger,” the clerk said, and tried to tug the book off. Adrian winced, started digging frantically at her pocket, and finally handed Harry the bronze shears.

“Hold that still, please?” Harry asked the swearing clerk, who grimly put a hand on Adrian’s shoulder and pulled the book back as far as possible, stretching the braid taut. Harry quickly snipped it like Liwei had, and the book fell to the floor, making angry growling noises as the hair turned to dust. The clerk grabbed it again and wrapped with heavy twine.

“I’m of a mind to write the publisher about these things,” the clerk said, fetching the rest of Adrian’s order while Harry looked around the floor for the elastic. “I swear they were calm when the shipment came in, but now it’s  _ chomp chomp chomp _ all day long. I’ll be right glad when term starts and we can chuck the spares, I tell you!” 

The other school supplies were far more docile than  _ The Monster Book of Monsters _ , and soon Adrian and Harry were peering through the apothecary window. Adrian spotted Liwei inside, waved, and then turned around to lean against the thick glass. She even put her load of parcels down by her feet.

“Aren’t we going in?” Harry asked.

Adrian shook her head, jerked her thumb back towards the window, and made a circling motion over her wrist with her index finger.

“Er…spinning arm…no…wrist? Circle wrist?”

Adrian pinched her finger and thumb together,  _ so close _ , and repeated the circling motion.

“Can’t you just write it down?” Harry grumbled. Adrian grinned at him, and kept going. “Fine. Circle…no, wrist. Wrist, wrist…watch? Wristwatch?” That earned him a thumbs-up. “Something about time?” Both thumbs went up, and then she put her hands together, and drew them apart. “Far, distance, long? She takes a long time in the apothecary?”

Adrian applauded, earning a few odd looks from passersby, and patted Harry on the head. Now that he’d finally solved her pantomime, Adrian got her notebook out and started writing in it again. The final message took up an entire page.

_ I think Aunt Liwei makes fewer potions than we do, since we’ve got class, but she needs rarer ingredients, & if they don’t have them she’ll need to special order, or visit suppliers directly. Don’t want to show up at a client’s needing to change their arm back from a skunk to a limb, & be out of doxy venom. This is our last stop today, but we’ll be back at Tom’s early Tuesday morning to take the Tube to King’s Cross. Want to meet us at 8AM & we’ll all go together? Not good to wander Muggle London alone right now. _

“That’d be great, thanks,” Harry said. “That’s three hours before the Express leaves, though. It didn’t take  _ that _ long last time, even with the delay.”

_Better safe than sorry_ , the next note read. _Even Aunt Liwei can’t do much to restart a train._ _D’you really fancy explaining to Prof. Snape that we need fetching_ _again_ _?_

“Suppose not,” Harry said. An awkward question occurred to him, with the reminder that Sirius Black was running around. “Are you…doing all right? With the whole Azkaban-escape thing?”

The notebook abruptly vanished, along with her grin, and Adrian became very interested in watching a flock of witches coming out of the cauldron shop across the street. They both jumped when the bells on the apothecary door jangled behind them. Liwei raised her eyebrows as Adrian hastily retrieved her parcels from the cobbles.

“List done?” Liwei asked. Adrian nodded, and then ducked as a shadow appeared on the street before her. A barn owl swooped over her head and landed on Liwei’s outflung arm, talons grasping the leather gauntlet. “Hold this, please.” Harry took the brown paper sack, stamped with the apothecary’s symbol of a bubbling cauldron, delicately. He and the owl exchanged slow blinks while Liwei read the letter it had brought her. “Adrian, your pen, please.”

After jotting down a reply on the back of the letter one-handed and launching the barn owl back into the air, Liwei turned back towards the Leaky Cauldron as though nothing had happened. “I trust Adrian’s already invited you to travel with us, next week,” she said to Harry, retrieving the paper apothecary sack.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Thanks. I got down here from Surrey all right, but…”

“But it’s always better to travel with a friend,” Liwei said, nodding emphatically. “Alvie disagrees, since he’d much rather do things on his own and tell people about it later.”

“That must be awkward,” Harry said without thinking.

“Why? It suits him.”

“Well, if you’re married…” Harry trailed off. He must have seriously misinterpreted something, because Adrian was now doubled over with silent laughter.

“If we’re…” Liwei looked to Adrian for an explanation, but none, of course, was forthcoming. “Alvie is a  _ friend _ , but…oh, she calls him ‘uncle’, doesn’t she? I always forget. No, Alvie and I are related to Adrian through  _ completely _ different sides; our friendship is coincidental. I can see how that was confusing.”

Adrian, through the laughter, had managed to scribble an explanation for Harry in the moleskin notebook. This one was in much larger, shakier letters than the others.

_ Aunt Liwei = Mother’s Mother’s Cousin. Uncle Alvie = Father’s Father’s Father’s Brother. _

“How do you keep track of all these relatives?” Harry muttered, sending Adrian into another spurt of muted mirth. “How do Stephan and Cecily fit in, then? And…Eric?”

“They’re all on her father’s side,” Liwei said. “I think she calls them all ‘cousin’ because it’s simpler than remembering how the tree actually goes.”

~~~

“Potter! Potter, over here!”

“Harry!”

Harry spun around, and to his delight, saw Hermione Granger and the two youngest Weasleys sitting outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, waving to him. Ron and Ginny were wearing Muggle t-shirts and cargo shorts. Hermione was in a light blue dress that went past her knees, and looked equally suitable to both the Muggle and wizarding parts of London.

“I thought I wouldn’t see you until the train tomorrow,” Harry said as he sat down at their patio table. “How was France?”

“France was educational,” Hermione said. Ron snorted, and Hermione rolled her eyes. “You could have stood to study more things in Egypt,” she said crossly. “It was an amazing opportunity!”

“Are you still mad I brought you back tourist pamphlets instead of books?” Ron said. He turned to Harry. “Mum won the Daily Prophet’s 700 Galleon Draw, so we took a family trip to Egypt to see Bill, and ‘Mione won’t admit she’s jealous.”

“I’m not jealous,” Hermione insisted. “I had a lovely holiday with my parents. I got to see the differences between Muggle and wizarding architectural influences on the cathedrals first hand-”

“We went to the pyramids!” Ginny cut in happily. “Bill showed us his favorite murals!”

“Who’s Bill?” Harry asked, curious.

“Our oldest brother,” Ron said proudly. “He’s a curse-breaker for Gringott’s, so Mum picked Egypt so we’d all get to see him. His boss gave him some time off to show us around, too.” He passed the rest of his sundae to his little sister, who started bouncing in her seat. “Egypt really agreed with Ginny.”

“But not with Scabbers,” Ginny said, around a mouthful of marshmallow. Harry grinned at the mumbled comment. Ginny half-dead in the Chamber of Secrets had joined the older nightmares of his parents’ death; seeing her excited over ice cream, extra freckly from the sun, and teasing Ron about his rat brought back the happier memories of last school year. Like when she’d joined his and Adrian’s team in a snowball fight against her brothers over Christmas break.

“Yeah, he’s not well,” Rat said, gently pulling Scabbers from his pocket, and holding him up to Harry and Hermione. “Hoping he gets his weight back, now we’re not somewhere so hot.”

“And his  _ fur _ ,” Hermione said in concern. The brownish-grey rat looked quite patchy, thin, and lethargic, a stark contrast to the plump black rat Theodore had bought.

“There’s a pet shop over there,” Harry said, pointing over his shoulder. “I know they’ve got rat supplies, maybe they can make him feel better.”

“Do they have owls?” Hermione asked. “My parents gave me some early birthday money…”

“They do,” Harry said. Ginny finished off Ron’s sundae, and they all stood up to take their dishes to the bussing station. “So does Eyelop’s Owl Emporium, it’s just down the street.”

The Magical Menagerie was a lot more fun to look around in when he wasn’t busy avoiding the Malfoys. Harry and Ginny wandered down the aisle full of Puffskeins while Hermione examined the owls, and Ron went to talk to the witch at the counter about his rat.

“We used to have one of these,” Ginny told Harry, putting her hand up against one cage, so a Puffskein would roll over to her. She scratched it gently, earning a pleased humming in response. “They’ve got this great long tongue in there, it’ll eat your bogies while you’re sleeping.”

“You’re pulling my leg,” Harry said.

“Nope,” Ginny said, trying to look serious. “They really do, ask anyone. The mediwitches keep some at St. Mungos, to help people with hay fever.”

“Now I  _ know _ you’re pulling my le-”

“ _ CROOKSHANKS, NO! _ ”

Ron shrieked loudly and went tearing past them, calling for Scabbers. Harry and Ginny looked at each other in alarm, and bolted out after Ron. They found him trying to coax his rat out from under a garbage bin across the street.

“What happened?” Ginny asked. Ron was bleeding from his forehead.

“Something landed on my head,” Ron said, stuffing the quaking rodent into the front pocket of his t-shirt. “Think it wanted to eat Scabbers, thought he was already done for.”

“You forgot your tonic,” Hermione said from behind them. Everyone spun around. Hermione held out a small red glass bottle to Ron, adjusting her grip on an enormous orange cat that was draped over one shoulder. It was even fluffier than the Puffskeins, and purring like a motor engine.

“You keep that monster away from Scabbers!” Ron said, ducking behind Harry. Ginny rolled her eyes and took the red bottle from Hermione. Hands free, she cradled the cat in her arms.

“Crookshanks isn’t a monster,” Hermione huffed. As the cat was now licking what was probably Ron’s blood from between its claws, Harry didn’t think Ron likely to believe her. “He’s just a cat.”

“A murderous cat,” Ron muttered, too quietly for Hermione to hear. “Oh, hey,” he said, tapping Harry on the shoulder. “I’m supposed to ask, do you want to come with us to the train? The Ministry’s lending Dad a second car ‘cause he mentioned to his boss it’d be crowded in ours, since we’re giving Hermione a lift. They’re meeting us just outside the Leaky Cauldron in the morning, so we’re all staying the night.”

“My dad’s performing an emergency root canal tomorrow,” Hermione said, when Harry automatically glanced at her for an explanation. “And Mum said it’d be better for Mrs. Cheswick to move her appointment up too, if she could.”

“Thanks, but I’ve already got plans,” Harry said. Ginny tugged on Ron’s arm, and they started walking back to the Leaky Cauldron.

Mrs. Weasley didn’t think the Tube was very safe, though, with an Azkaban escapee running around, and insisted Harry join them. “I’m sure the Ministry driver won’t mind two more coming along,” Mrs. Weasley said over dinner that night, when Harry explained that he was already meeting a Quidditch teammate and their guardian. He very carefully avoided Adrian’s name; Mrs. Weasley considered Adrian a bad influence, and he wasn’t sure she’d extend the invitation if she knew  _ who _ he was meeting. But she wouldn’t take it back once they arrived, surely. If it was too dangerous for  _ him _ to travel by Muggle train, it was too dangerous for  _ them _ as well.

The rest of dinner passed in interesting conversation about Egypt and France, with a slight diversion into congratulations to Percy, who’d been named Head Boy of Hogwarts for the year.

“It’s great responsibility,” Percy told Harry solemnly, passing a bowl of potatoes to Mr. Weasley. “The Head Boy and Girl have to organize the prefects, of course, and try to smooth down interhouse disagreements if they get too big, among other things.”

“Must not’ve had very good ones last year,” Harry said, thinking of the tensions Tom Riddle’s shade had caused through Ginny. Down the table, Fred and George began heaping chicken and sautéed vegetables on Ginny’s plate.

“We didn’t,” Percy agreed. “I’m already in correspondence with this year’s Head Girl, to make sure we’re  in accord. The Headmaster saw fit to inform us of the presence of dementors guarding the school, and we need to make sure the prefects can keep the younger students away from them.”

“Is  _ that _ why you kept sending Hermes out, Perce?” Fred asked, before Harry could ask what Percy had meant about  _ dementors _ .

“Love letters to your girlfriend?” George added. He faked a swoon. “Please, keep writing about staggered curfews and productive study habits-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Percy said, scowling at them. “Penelope is a prefect, not Head Girl, and she’s got her  _ own _ owl to correspond with. Hermes carried my letters to Farley.”

“ _ Gemma _ Farley?” Harry asked. Percy nodded, and Harry felt a burst of pride that someone from Slytherin was Head Girl. Gemma Farley had been a prefect since his first year at Hogwarts, and he couldn’t think of a more fair (and terrifying) student to be in charge.

~~~

Late that night, Ron knocked quietly at Harry’s door.

“Whazzit?” Harry asked, half-asleep. Ron looked both ways down the hall, red bottle from the Magical Menagerie clutched in his hand, and then pushed past Harry into his room.

“I gotta talk to you,” Ron said.

“Yeah, I got that,” Harry said, sitting back down on his bed. He didn’t bother lighting the candelabra, and Ron looked rather ominous, standing in the middle of the room, illuminated from below by the dwindling fire in the grate.

“I left Scabber’s tonic at the bar,” Ron started. He paused, thinking. “Also Percy’s being a prat, thought I stole his Head Boy badge, so I kinda wanted to get out of our room.”

“Did you steal it?” Harry asked.

“No, it was the twins,” Ron said dismissively. He fidgeted with the bottle of rat tonic. “When I got downstairs, I heard my parents talking about you.”

“What?”

“And after you saved Ginny, I figured we owed you,” Ron went on. He glanced at the half-open door, and lowered his voice. “Mum doesn’t wanna worry you, but the Minister told Dad- that’s who his boss is, Dad’s a department head so he answers to Minister Fudge.” Despite his nervousness over whatever he’d heard, a clear note of pride entered Ron’s voice as he added this last bit. “Before Black broke out, the guards heard him talking in his sleep. He’s after  _ you _ .”

Ron leaned back, clearly expecting a reaction, but all Harry did was blink. Over half the inmates at Azkaban were from the war with Voldemort, if the gossip among the Slytherins was true, and Harry had been assuming Black was one of them since seeing the Daily Prophet article. Harry was famous for blowing up Voldemort and ending the war; of  _ course _ Black was after him.

“What…did he say, exactly?” Harry asked.

“Kept muttering ‘he’s at Hogwarts, he’s at Hogwarts’,” Ron said.

“Huh.” Harry rubbed the back of his head. That wasn’t very definitive. “Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem,” Ron said. He gave a nod, and left, closing the door behind him.


	3. Chasing False Echoes

At exactly eight in the morning, Adrian and Liwei stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron’s main fireplace in the public room. Harry waved them over to the bar, where he was demolishing his breakfast, and explained about the Weasleys’ ride offer.

“A free ride from the Ministry?” Liwei asked, brows rising. She had left the studded belt behind today, tucking her wand into one sleeve. She might have passed for a posh Muggle businesswoman, if it weren’t for the multitude of talon-gauges on her brown leather briefcase, remarkably similar to the scoring on her seemingly-absent gauntlet.

“Can’t pass up that novelty,” Adrian said, grinning. She’d buzzed her hair short once more, and had on jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, far more casual than the slacks and polo of last year.

Harry grinned back, and then grimaced, pinching his nose. “Ugh. Is that from the Floo?”

“What?”

“You smell like sulfur.”

“Oh.” Adrian rubbed the back of her head. “No. That’s from fixing this. It should go away soon…?” She turned questioningly towards her aunt.

“By tonight,” Liwei reassured her. “And _do_ remember not to use magic on it.”

“No potions or spells,” Adrian told Harry glumly. “Means I’ll be cutting it more since I can’t even cast the Slow-Grow Charm without…”

“And no shellfish,” Liwei added firmly.

“Shellfish’ll make your hair go crazy?” Harry asked curiously.

“No, that’s for the voice thing,” Adrian said. “I’ll lose it again for a week if I eat crab or lobster, a month for mussels, and we’re not actually sure how long with oysters.”

At this point Hermione came down the stairs, hugging Crookshanks to her chest. Adrian spotted her first, and waved. “Hey Granger! Come bring that ugly cat over and meet my aunt.”

“Crookshanks is _gorgeous_ ,” Hermione corrected, but she came over anyway. When she got closer, her nose wrinkled. “Did you light your head on fire?”

“Nah, that’d be stupid,” Adrian said, running a hand automatically over her buzzcut. “Wouldn’t have _any_ hair left if I’d done that would I? And a cat being ugly’s not bad, just means he’s a survivor. Even if he apparently lost that fight with a brick wall.”

“He didn’t fight a brick wall,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “Lots of Persian cats have this face.”

“Uh huh,” Adrian said, grinning. “Anyway, Granger, this is my Aunt Liwei.” She gestured to Liwei, who inclined her head politely to Hermione. “Aunt Liwei, this is Hermione Granger, that Gryffindor I told you about.”

“How do you do?” Hermione said, draping Crookshanks over one shoulder so she could shake Liwei’s hand.

“Quite well, thank you,” Liwei said, smiling. “It’s nice to meet you. Adrian tells me you were the first to realize the cause of last year’s petrifactions was a basilisk; that’s quite impressive deduction for someone of any age, let alone thirteen.”

“Oh!” Hermione said, blushing. “It was really because of Harry, he gave me the last clue.”

“You still figured out the rest of it, ‘Mione,” Harry said. “And none of the teachers ever did, and it wasn’t like they _didn’t_ know I’m a Parselemouth. You even figured out she was travelling through the pipes.” Hermione glanced nervously at Liwei, and Harry wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned his taboo skill. But Adrian’s aunt didn’t so much as bat an eye, instead keeping the conversation on Hermione’s deduction.

“You solved a puzzle even Albus Dumbledore couldn’t,” Liwei said firmly. She nudged Adrian to move down one stool. “Why don’t you tell me about it? Harry tells us we needn’t hurry for the Tube after all, and I admit I’ve as much curiosity as that cat in your arms.”

Still blushing, Hermione perched herself on a stool, and started telling them about the mysteries of last year from her perspective. Very soon the blush was gone as she focused on the details of the story, and she hardly slowed down when Old Tom brought over her breakfast.  She’d just gotten to waking up in the hospital wing when Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came downstairs with Ginny, and spotted all of them.

“Good morning, firstie!” Adrian called, waving to the youngest Weasley. Hermione, having gotten through the actual _mystery_ part of last year, turned more of her attention to breakfast now.

“I’m a second-year,” Ginny said, scampering over and climbing up onto a barstool as well.

“ ‘s no use,” Harry mumbled around a piece of toast. “You’ll be _firstie_ ‘til term actually starts.”

“Heard you took one of those antique carpets up to the top of the Sphinx,” Adrian said to Ginny, forgetting to introduce Liwei in her curiosity. “Do they have a Don’t-Notice-Me spell to keep the Muggles from seeing? Or is the carpet woven from demiguise hair-”

“Ginny, why don’t you go wake the boys?” Mrs. Weasley interrupted, eyes fixed on Ginny and Adrian like a cat that considers a stoat to be _far_ too close to one of its kittens.

“Aw, Mum,” Ginny said, but she went back up the stairs anyway. Mrs. Weasley gave a small sigh of relief. Hermione and Harry both glanced between Adrian and Liwei, wondering what they thought of this obvious distrust. Adrian reached past Harry and stole a slice of orange from Hermione’s breakfast, pretending nothing had happened.

“You must be Molly and Arthur,” Liwei said, taking a very diplomatic route. She walked away from the counter and briskly shook Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s hands. “It was very kind of you to invite us along in the cars. May I say, your eldest is a _fine_ curse-breaker?”

“You know our Bill?” Mrs. Weasley said, eyes lighting up. Liwei, Harry noticed, had made sure to place herself directly in the line of sight between Adrian and Mrs. Weasley.

“I worked with him briefly in Morocco,” Liwei said, steering the Weasley parents towards a table by the window. “Gringott’s doesn’t often call for freelancers like myself, but there was this vase…” The sound of her voice grew too distant for words to be made out. Hermione turned towards the two Slytherins.

“Why doesn’t Mrs. Weasley like you?” she asked, puzzled. “Didn’t you help save Ginny last year?”

“You’re a fine example of Gryffindor tact, you know that, Granger?” Adrian said, nabbing another one of Hermione’s orange slices off her plate.

“I don’t like being in the dark,” Hermione said crossly. On her shoulder, Crookshanks gave a loud _meow_ that Harry took for agreement.

“I suspect it’s ‘cause I accused Lockhart of trying to Obliviate all of us last spring,” Adrian said, chewing thoughtfully on the orange. “If she was a big fan before that, it’s hard to swallow. A lot of people don’t believe Gemma’s article either.”

“ _I_ had trouble believing it,” Hermione agreed. Harry opened his mouth, brows furrowing, and Hermione kept going. “I _do_ believe you, though, really.” Harry relaxed.

“Probably doesn’t help that we met when I was dragging the git by his hair,” Adrian added.

“You were _what_?” Hermione asked.

“Pipsqueak not mention that bit?” Adrian asked, jerking her thumb towards Harry.

“No,” Hermione said, glaring at him. “Just that you cast a full-body bind so you could bring him to Professor McGonagall’s office and tell her what he’d done.”

Harry shrugged. “Didn’t think it mattered.”

~~~

Riding _to_ King’s Cross in the Ministry of Magic’s motorcar was much less awkward than riding _from_ King’s Cross in Arthur Weasley’s Ford Anglia had been last September. There was no Alastor Moody to bark at Adrian, they weren’t late for anything, and even the traffic seemed lighter.

The only two bits of trouble were trying to coax Crookshanks into a closed wicker basket for the journey, and dividing up everyone between the cars. The adults seemed keen to get Harry into the Ministry car, which he assumed had wards, and Adrian didn’t want to let Harry off on his own (“You’ve a habit of nearly dying, halfpint.”) and Liwei, naturally, wanted to keep an eye on her niece. Hermione offered to ride in the Ministry car with them and save the Weasleys room in their Ford Anglia; unfortunately, Mrs. Weasley felt either she or her husband should stick with Hermione, as they’d promised her parents to look after her, but Liwei (though she didn’t say so out loud) clearly thought putting Mrs. Weasley and Adrian in the same vehicle was a terrible idea.

Percy loaded everyone’s trunks into the two cars’ boots while they discussed seating arrangements, sensibly pointing out that they were all going to the same place, so it didn’t matter whose trunk was where. The owl cages and Crookshanks’ basket were another matter, but all the animals’ respective owners were going to hold their cages on their laps for the ride anyway.

Eventually Liwei, who was acquainted with the Ministry driver (“Still taking your flitterbloom weekly, I trust? Any troubles?” “Yes ma’am, no ma’am, thank you for asking ma’am.”) pointed up at the clouds and declared “Goodness me, is that a fwooper?” in a loud voice, chivvied the nearest children (Ginny, Harry, Percy, and Adrian) into the back of the Ministry vehicle, nipped into the front passenger seat, and hissed at the driver to book it.

“Was that really necessary, ma’am?” Percy asked, sounding a bit offended and rather squashed. He was sitting between the door and Ginny, with Hermes the owl in a cage on his lap, and no room for his elbows.

“I can recognize a losing battle when I’m in one,” Liwei said firmly. In the rearview mirror, Harry could see the driver struggling to keep a straight face. “If your parents are anything like young Bill, they’re very talented with magic, and _very_ bad at compromise. This way we’re not late.”

At King’s Cross Station, the Ministry driver waited for the teal Ford Anglia to catch up, helped Percy get everyone’s trunks onto trolley, and wished them all a good term before vanishing back into the Ministry vehicle and escaping into traffic once more. Liwei immediately began talking to Mrs. Weasley about breaking curses with Bill again, as the flock of children began pushing their trolleys towards Platform 9 ¾.

“Harry, a word?” Mr. Weasley said quietly, when they were all through the barrier and had loaded their luggage onto the train. Harry obligingly stepped back off, and noticed Mrs. Weasley several yards away on the platform, giving her children fond hugs and kisses on the cheek.

“It’s about the break out,” Mr. Weasley began.

“Someone heard Sirius Black saying ‘he’s at Hogwarts’ before he escaped, and you think he’s after me?” Harry said, after looking around to make sure no one was listening. Mr. Weasley’s brows rose, and Harry went on quickly. “Couldn’t sleep. Don’t worry, that’s the only bit I heard, and it’s not really a surprise, is it? If he was a Death Eater?”

“We don’t actually _know_ if he was a Death Eater,” Mr. Weasley said, brows still trying to catch up with his receding hairline. “Not all of You-Know-Who’s supporters earned that title, and Black never offered any testimony. Harry, this is a very dangerous situation. The Ministry doesn’t divert guards from Azkaban to other places lightly.”

“You mean the dementors?” Harry asked, noting that Mr. Weasley flinched, just a tiny bit, when he said their name. “What _are_ they, anyway?”

“Merciless,” Mr. Weasley said. “Harry, I want you to promise me you won’t go _looking_ for Black.”

“Why would I do that?” Harry asked. “If he wants to kill me-”

“According to Ron, you went after Professor Quirrell _and_ a basilisk on your own,” Mr. Weasley said. “Which was a good thing for our family, but please, Harry, Black is more dangerous. If you get wind of him, _tell a teacher_.”

“Quirrell had Voldemort sticking out the back of his head, how is Black more dangerous?” Harry asked, but before Mr. Weasley could answer, Adrian grabbed Harry’s shoulders.

“Come on, pipsqueak, the train’s leaving!” she dragged him towards one of the doors. “Bye, Mr. Weasley, thanks for the lift!”

“Promise, Harry!” Mr. Weasley called, as Adrian half-flung, half-shoved Harry onto the train just as the whistle blew. He felt it move as Adrian shut the door behind them. They weren’t in the same compartment as they’d stowed their luggage, and Harry set off down the corridor to reunite with Hedwig. She’d want a treat after dealing with the cramped car.

“What was that all about?” Adrian asked, following him.

“Wanted me to promise-”

“Harry!” Hermione waved from the compartment with their luggage. She’d already changed into her school uniform. Past her, Harry saw Neville Longbottom and his toad Trevor sitting comfortably next to Ron and Scabbers. “Please come tell Ron he’s being ridiculous, Crookshanks can’t spend the whole trip in his hamper.”

“Ooh, have fun with that mess,” Adrian said quietly. She turned on one heel to walk the other way. “I’m gonna find Terence.”

Harry didn’t see why Crookshanks _couldn’t_ spend the journey in the hamper, since the owls all spent it in their cages, but Hermione took offense at this.

“Owls are nocturnal, they _sleep_ during the trip,” Hermione said, ignoring the fact that Hedwig was daintily eating an owl treat Harry had pushed through the bars of her cage as they spoke. “Scabbers can stay in Ron’s pocket, if he’s that worried.”

“Why don’t you go hang out with Theo?” Harry suggested to Ron, as Hermione started to unbuckle the hamper. “He’s just got a rat this summer, maybe he’ll want advice.”

“Theo?” Ron asked, sounding even more offended than Hermione. “You mean _Theodore Nott_ , that creep who sold Neville all those rubbish amulets?” Longbottom winced, and shot Harry an apologetic look.

“I’m gonna take a walk,” Harry said hastily, ducking back out into the corridor just as Crookshanks oozed out of the hamper and made a beeline for Ron’s knees.

The compartments near the front of the train were full, as usual. He passed by the Weasley twins telling Lee Jordan about mummies, Theodore carefully introducing his rat to Millicent’s cat (“Leofflaed is not for eating, Snapdragon.”), and the Carrow twins braiding Daphne Greengrass’s hair, before finding Terence Higgs and Adrian looking dubiously at Terence’s copy of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ , tied shut with a belt and growling ominously on the floor of their compartment.

“Dare you to stick your hand in it,” Terence said, nudging the book with his toe. It tried to flop up into his shoe. Harry noted with surprise that Terence had already changed into his school uniform, and now sported a shiny silver prefect’s badge on his chest.

“No way, mine already chewed my braid off,” Adrian said.

“You had a braid?”

“Broke a porcelain hairstick Cousin Eunice brought back from Romania ages ago, turned into Rapunzel,” Adrian explained. “Took Aunt Liwei weeks to make it stop growing.”

“Is that why you smell so awful?” Terence asked, sniffing at her. “I thought you’d lit your head on fire.”

“Why does everyone think that?” Adrian slid her foot under the book, and flipped it away from Terence’s shoe. “Dare you to lick it.”

“Not today, I gotta lead the firsties down to the dungeon,” Terence said. “Can’t tell ‘em the rules with papercuts on my tongue. Hi, Harry.”

“You’re really a prefect?”

Adrian snorted, and clapped Terence on the back. “Told you no one’d believe it.”

“Sorry,” Harry said. “It’s just, you complain about Quidditch taking up study time, and you’ve got OWLs this year, and Percy Weasley acts like it’s…you know, a big commitment.”

“Weasley thinks everything is a big commitment,” Terence said, shrugging. “Gemma told Professor Snape about my study group last spring, you remember? And he thinks I’d be good at this. Said I’m the one in our year with the ‘most experience with younger students’.” He fidgeted with the silver badge. “Gemma made Head Girl, did you hear?”

“Yeah, Percy mentioned it,” Harry said. The malevolent motions of _The Monster Book of Monsters_ reminded him of Bludgers strapped down in the Quidditch equipment case. “Hey, do we have a new captain, yet? How does that work?”

“Nomination from the old captain,” Adrian said, frowning slightly. “And if anyone else has a nomination, the team votes. But we’re not getting a new captain, I already saw Marcus onboard.”

“But he was a seventh-year, wasn’t he?”

“Must’ve opted out of that summer session,” Terence said. He picked the growling book off the floor and crammed it back into his trunk. “School’s letting everyone who couldn’t focus on studying repeat fifth or seventh year and take their OWLs and NEWTs this spring, if they want.”

Harry wandered thoughtfully back to his own compartment. Would little Ravenclaw Colin Creevey repeat his first year, since he’d spent so much of it petrified? Would Hufflepuff Justin Finch-Fletchley repeat second year?

Ron, Longbottom, and Hermione were playing Exploding Snap when Harry got back, Crookshanks docilely purring on Hermione’s lap while Ron’s pocket quivered. Trevor the toad was nowhere in sight, but there was an occasional loud croak from under the seats. Harry joined them at cards for a while, until a witch with a trolley full of snacks stopped by. Hermione giggled when Harry’s eyes went wide at the sight of cauldron cakes, pumpkin pasties, and wizarding candies piled impossibly high on the trolley.

“Didn’t you see this before, mate?” Ron asked, as Harry paid the cheerily smiling witch for four cauldron cakes.

“Yeah,” Harry said. “But it’s still amazing, you know?” He handed Hermione a cake, shoved one into Ron’s startled hands, tossed the third to Longbottom, and bit down into his own. “These are really good.” The cake disappeared remarkably fast, and Harry wondered if he should find the trolley witch again and get more. Ron noticed him peering speculatively towards the door, and pulled a corned beef sandwich from his pocket.

“Here, have this,” Ron said, holding out the sandwich. “I’ve got about five more in my bag, Mum always packs too many. Thinks we’re gonna starve on the way.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, and soon the sandwich was gone too. Crookshanks had migrated from Hermione’s lap to Harry’s, and was contentedly asleep. Harry stroked the orange cat, marveling at how something that had done its best to take Ron’s scalp off could have such soft fur. Between the quiet sounds of cards shuffling as the others started another game, and the motion of the train under him, Harry was soon lulled into a doze.

“Adopting strays now, Weasley? Wouldn’t think you could afford that.”

Harry’s eyes snapped open. Crookshanks stopped purring. Draco Malfoy stood in the open door of the compartment, flanked by Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, all three wearing exaggerated sneers. The sky outside the windows was dark now, and rain slapped so loudly against the glass Harry was surprised it hadn’t woken him sooner.

“I supposed it’s not a surprise,” Draco went on, eyes trailing slowly over Harry and Crookshanks, to Hermione sitting by the window, and to the opposite seat where Ron was turning red. “Your father always did have a soft spot for broken, Muggle rubbish.”

“Lay off, Draco,” Harry said, as Ron shot to his feet and Hermione reached for the wand in her pocket.

“I’ll say what I like, Potter,” Draco said. “I don’t take orders from blood-traitors.”

“You sure wanted to last year,” Harry said dryly. Ron, about to lunge at Draco, froze, and gave Harry an odd look. Longbottom turned towards Hermione in confusion. Now it was Draco’s turn to flush red, and Vincent and Gregory cracked their knuckles menacingly. “What, you too?” Harry asked them, craning his neck to make it obvious he was looking past Draco at them. “I _told_ you back then I wasn’t the Heir, no use getting all annoyed _now_ .” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Longbottom mouth “ _Oh._ ”

“I’ll be annoyed if I like!” Draco said.

“Be annoyed in your own compartment,” Terence said, suddenly appearing behind Vincent and Gregory. “You’re blocking the corridor. Go on, go get changed into your uniforms if you’ve nothing better to do.”

Draco spun around, sneer vanishing as he spotted Terence’s prefect badge. Sulking, he left, Vincent and Gregory trailing behind him.

“You lot ought to get changed too,” Terence said, nodding at Harry and the Gryffindors. He set off in the opposite direction the third-years, and Harry heard him telling the students in the next compartment over to change as well.

Hermione collected Crookshanks and waited in the corridor while the boys got into their uniforms. Harry simply pulled his robes on over his jeans and t-shirt, shivering from the cold coming in from the windows, knowing that dungeons would be colder. He held Scabbers while Ron changed, as Longbottom’s hands were once more full of toad. The rat trembled in Harry’s hands; he hoped Ron’s pockets were warm.

“Was that Terence Higgs?” Hermione asked Harry, coming back into the compartment. Ron quickly dropped Scabbers back into his pocket, eyeing Crookshanks nervously. “He’s got good timing, we should be arriving in about ten minutes-”

As she spoke, the train slowed down.

“Your watch slow?” Ron asked.

“We _can’t_ be there yet-”

The lamps went out. With the storm clouds outside blocking the stars, the train was completely dark. Harry held one hand up in front of his face, trying to see it.

“What’s going on?”

“Ron stop moving, I’m trying to get out my wand.”

“We’re not supposed to do magic outside school.”

“We’re allowed once we’re on the train, didn’t you read that form?”

“You’ve a spell for getting the lamps on again, then?”

“No, just… _Lumos_.”

Her wand flared brightly at the exact same moment that the temperature plummeted. Harry’s gaze turned unconsciously to the open doorway. It held a tall, hooded figure, and Harry felt a sudden, desperate fear that it might step over the threshold. A rattling sound filled his ears, like someone trying to breathe through a bag full of rocks, the temperature was still dropping, Harry shivered violently and couldn’t stop-

Someone screamed.

~~~

“Harry!”

“You’d better get that lump off him.”

“Harry, please wake up!”

Something sharp dug into Harry’s chest. He flinched. The sharpness withdrew, and was replaced with vibrations. Harry blinked. The lamps had reignited, the train was moving, and he had a very clear view of the ceiling, as he was lying down on the floor. Something heavy and warm was pressing down on his chest. He looked away from the ceiling; Crookshanks was sitting on him, purring.

“Are they all right?” Harry asked, as Hermione pulled her cat off of him, so Ron could help him to his feet. Once up, Harry immediately sat down very hard on the seat; he was trembling harder than Scabbers had been, and his skin was clammy.

“Everyone else?” Ron asked. “Dunno, some professor chased that thing off, said he had to talk to the driver.”

“He left this for you,” Longbottom added, voice gone high. He pressed a chunk of chocolate into Harry’s hands.

“The person who was screaming,” Harry said, worried. He couldn’t get the terrified voice out of his head.

“No one screamed,” Ron said, giving him an even odder look than earlier. “You’d better eat that, he gave the rest of us some too, it helped.”

Heavy, stumbling footsteps approached; a moment later Adrian grabbed onto the doorframe, and stuck her head into the compartment. She looked as awful as Harry felt, pale and shaking. She jerked her chin towards the chocolate still in Harry’s hand.

“Eat that,” she said. Her voice cracked. Harry hastily shoved the chocolate into his mouth, and felt warmth spread through him. Adrian nodded dazedly, then frowned at Ron. “You better get about…three compartments down. On the left. Your sister’s not doing so good.”

“ _Ginny?_ ” Ron shot off down the corridor, almost knocking Adrian over in his hurry. She hung grimly on to the doorframe. Longbottom, clutching his toad, followed Ron.

“What’s wrong with Ginny?” Hermione asked in a small voice.

“Got the shakes,” Adrian said. “The chocolate helped, but…” she shrugged one shoulder.

“Do you want to sit down?” Hermione asked, at the same moment Harry said “What _was_ that?”

“No,” Adrian said shortly. She swayed as the train took the last bend into Hogsmeade. “ _That_ , tadpole, was a dementor. Lucky us, the Ministry is _so_ concerned for student safety, they’re posting them at every entrance to the grounds.” The sarcasm seemed to give Adrian strength, and her face was regaining color as she talked. “After all, Black must have broken out to get _away_ from those things. I mean, wouldn’t you? So obviously the best way to keep him out of Hogwarts is to turn it into a prettier Azkaban.”

She snapped her mouth shut after the last word, frown worsening.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” a new voice said. Adrian jumped, and nearly lost her grip on the door. A young man with brown, grey-streaked hair had appeared in the doorway next to her, staring intently at Harry. Seeing the smear of chocolate Harry was hastily wiping from his mouth, he smiled. “And you ate the chocolate. Good. I’ll be advising Pomfrey and the kitchens to have plenty on hand this year.”

“Awake?” Adrian echoed.

“Harry fainted,” Hermione said. Harry tried to glare at her, but found himself only able to sort of squint awkwardly, still feeling ill from the dementor’s effect.

“An extreme but not unusual reaction to dementors,” the newcomer said. There were deep, dark circles under his eyes, and his robes had been patched so often they looked quilted. “Fortunately for everyone’s studies, the Headmaster has forbidden them to enter the grounds.” He nodded firmly, and left.

Adrian and Harry both flinched when the train slowed down again a few minutes later, earning a concerned noise from Hermione and a judgmental _meow_ from Crookshanks, now safely back in his hamper, waiting to be transported with the luggage and owls. Thankfully, though, the lamps stayed on; they had arrived at Hogsmeade. Everyone disembarked, grumbling at the icy rain pouring down. Harry caught sight of Terence and another prefect herding first-years towards Hagrid, before the crowd turned down a muddy lane.

“Where are we going?” he asked Hermione.

“To those,” Hermione said, pointing ahead. Harry held a hand up, shielding his glasses from the worst of the rain, and caught sight of students ahead of them climbing into carriages. Oh, right; Harry remembered watching these arrive last year, from his spot on the steps. He’d wondered if they were pulled by invisible horses at the time. Now he felt sure they were, as Adrian stopped to pat the air in front of one before opening the door for Harry and Hermione.

The ride uphill to the castle was quiet, with one spike of dread cold when they passed the dementors guarding the gates. Harry could almost hear the pleading screams again, echoing around his skull.

Students bolted out of their carriages and up the front steps when they arrived at the castle, desperate to get out of the rain. Several people tripped on the wet steps; Harry managed to catch tiny Ravenclaw Colin Creevey before he could crack his chin, and Hermione lent Adrian a steadying arm.

“Miss Granger! Over here, please!” Professor McGonagall stood on the marble steps that led to the second floor, beckoning to Hermione from across the entrance hall.

“It must be about my schedule!” Hermione said excitedly. She beamed at Harry, and Adrian let go of her shoulder. “I’ll see you later!”

Professor Flitwick had stationed himself just outside the door of the Great Hall, and cast a Drying Charm on the students as they passed by. It didn’t do much to warm, simply sucking the water back out of their robes and sending it streaming out the windows, but it stopped most of the shivers. The Great Hall itself was charmed to always be the perfect temperature for the occasion, and Harry felt a blissful heat sink into him as he stepped through the doorway.

Once at the Slytherin table, Adrian immediately fell into conversation with Flora and Hestia Carrow, and Harry’s attention was caught by Theodore.

“Puts a damper on the Hogsmeade trips, don’t they?” Theodore said. He pulled his sleeping rat out from under his hat, and settled her between his neck and the loosened collar of his robes. “I don’t fancy walking past those things again.”

“You could stay up here with me,” Harry suggested.

“Aw, did the dementors scare you, Harry?” Draco drawled, dropping down into the space between Blaise Zabini and an older student across the table from them. “And here I thought Weasley was _exaggerating_ when he said you fainted, trying to cheer that sniveling sister of his up.”

“You snivel more in Charms class each week than Ginny Weasley ever has in her entire life,” Harry said calmly, not even bothering to look at Draco. “So, what’d you name her, again?” Harry asked Theodore, gesturing towards the fat little rat, which was now yawning and stretching.

“Leofflaed,” Theodore said fondly. Hearing her name, Leofflaed sniffled at Theodore’s ear. “She’s really smart, here, watch this-”

But whatever trick Theodore was going to show off would have to wait; the new first-years were nervously walking into the Great Hall, and Professor Flitwick was levitating the Sorting Hat and a stool towards the head table. Everyone hushed to hear the Sorting Song, and soon the hall was filled with applause, as each house gained new members.

“Is that our new Defense teacher?” Theodore asked quietly, as the Sorting Hat took a particularly long time with a slightly ill-looking first-year. Harry peered past Flitwick to the head table, and saw the brown-haired man from the train sitting between Professors Sprout and Burbage.

“Must be, ‘cause Snape hates him,” Harry said, noting that their head of house was giving the new professor a look of deepest loathing. Rumor bloomed at the start of each term, about Snape wanting the Defense Against the Dark Arts post instead of Potions. Harry had once heard Flora and Hestia arguing over it; they both believed the job was cursed, since there was a new professor every year. Flora thought Snape was a fool for pursuing it, and Hestia thought he _was_ the one who’d cursed it, to get the job himself.

“He looks even more rubbish than Lockhart,” Draco sneered.

“Did he skimp on chocolate when he got to your compartment, or something?” Theodore asked. Draco glared at him.

When the Sorting was over, Harry noticed Snape taking a long look at the Slytherins, tapping one finger against the wood of the head table, as though counting. There was no tap as his eyes slid past Harry.

“Granger looks happy,” Adrian said, elbowing Harry. He turned towards the door and saw Hermione and Professor McGonagall walking in. Hermione waved to Harry as she sat down at the Gryffindor table, smiling so broadly Harry thought she might sprout wings and fly away.

“I guess she got that schedule she wanted,” he said.

“Welcome!” Professor Dumbledore rose to his feet, and his eyes twinkled down at the assembled students from behind his spectacles. “Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all, and as one of them is very serious, I think it is best to get it out of the way before you become befuddled by our excellent feast.”

At the word _serious_ , a hush far deeper than the one for the Sorting Song fell over the hall. Dumbledore nodded approvingly, his usual smile replaced with a carefully neutral expression.

“As you will all be aware after their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business.”

Most of the Slytherins turned to look at Harry. He kept his attention firmly fixed on the Headmaster, ignoring the low whispers.

“They are stationed at every entrance to the grounds,” Dumbledore continued. “And while they are with us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission. Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises, or even invisibility cloaks. It is not in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs afoul of the dementors.”

The Slytherins’ attention switched from Harry to Gemma, who blinked solemnly at them, and gave a small, slow nod.

“On a happier note,” Dumbledore said, smile returning. “I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to our ranks this year. First Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.” He gestured to the brown-haired man, whose patchy robes looked rather sad next to the other teachers. A few students clapped politely as Professor Lupin rose, nodded to the assemblage, and sat back down.

“As to our second appointment, well, I am sorry to tell you that Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his gamekeeping duties.”

A thunderous applause burst out in sharp contrast to the smattering Lupin had received. Hagrid blushed.

“Of _course_ that’s who assigned us a book that bites back,” Adrian said, grinning at Terence as she applauded. “This is gonna be a fun year.”

“Bites _back_?” Terence asked, looking at her sideways.

“Well,” Dumbledore said. “I think that’s everything of importance. Let the feast begin!”


	4. I'm Not Calling You A Liar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added a disturbing imagery warning due to the boggarts, and it's likely relevant to some later scenes that don't warrant the full gore warning.

Harry awoke early on the first day of classes. He lay quietly for several minutes, enjoying the heavy warmth of the thick green comforter, the quiet, steady drip of the enchanted water clock on the small table, and the familiar sound of Gregory snoring.

When Harry slipped into the common room, a prefect dropped a tall stack of parchment down on the table near the announcements board. The handful of Slytherins on the rowing team, just back from the lake, immediately clustered around it. Harry ducked under sixth-year Grant Sparkford’s arm for a look; it was everyone’s new class schedules for the year. They were in alphabetical order by last name, so Harry grabbed Adrian’s as well as his own, and went to wait by the fireplace. He was in no rush to get to breakfast; his first class of the day was History of Magic with Professor Binns. If he showed up early for that, he’d go right back to sleep.

Terence stumbled out of his dorm a few minutes later, and also rifled through the stack of schedules. Harry noticed he kept looking after finding his own, frowning.

“It’s all right, I got it,” Harry said, waving from the arm chair he’d sunk into.

“You’re not supposed to do that,” Terence said. “…thanks.”

It had been an impulse to grab Adrian’s schedule, but Harry found himself glad he had. She didn’t make an appearance until half their house had stumbled blearily through the common room, and most Slytherins weren’t above peaking at each other’s information. There were a couple nasty chuckles about sixth-years who hadn’t made it into desired NEWT classes, and a few people deciding to repeat classes after the stress of last year. Adrian was always discreet about her Muggle Studies class, not even doing her homework where other people could look over her shoulder. Terence waved Adrian over when she slouched yawningly into the common room, and Adrian took her schedule from Harry with a mumbled “Thnks. G’mrning.” and shoved it into her pocket after a quick glance.

Like each year before, breakfast the first day of classes saw an enormous storm of post owls. They dropped of well-wishes for the term, items students had forgotten, and care packages. This year, there was a sharp intake of breath from half the hall as a screech owl swooped towards the Slytherin table clutching a crimson envelope in its beak. 

“Oh, boy,” Adrian said. The screech owl let go a few feet above her, and the crimson envelope drifted serenely down. All along the table, people crammed fingers into their ears. Harry hastily followed suit, not a moment too soon. Adrian grabbed the envelope out of her cereal bowl, ripped it open, and dropped it to plug up her own ears. The moment she let go, an angry voice filled the Great Hall, shouting so loudly Harry felt his head buzzing.

– _ ADRIAN XIANGYI PUCEY, I AM ASHAMED TO CALL YOU MY COUSIN! HOW COULD YOU DO SOMETHING SO AWFUL TO THAT RESPECTABLE FAMILY? _ –

All over the Great Hall, students who hadn’t noticed the delivery whipped around at the burst of sonorous rage. Adrian muttered something at the envelope, inaudible under the shouting.

– _ DO YOU REALIZE HOW DIFFICULT IT IS TO FIND RELIABLE STAFF? OF COURSE YOU DON’T, YOU ARE A SPOILED CHILD WHO HAS NEVER SEEN A PROPERLY RUN HOUSEHOLD IN HER LIFE. HAD I A GALLEON TO SPARE I WOULD GIVE IT TO THE MINISTRY TO TRACK DOWN YOUR MOTHER AND GIVE HER A PIECE OF MY MIND FOR EVER GIVING YOU THE IDEA THAT SUCH ATROCIOUS BEHAVIOR WAS ACCEPTABLE.  _ –

Halfway down the table, Draco stared at Adrian with a worrisome look of dawning comprehension. Harry saw his mouth moving, repeating the words  _ reliable staff _ .

– _ I AM EXPECTING WORD ANY DAY NOW FROM AZKABAN THAT YOUR FATHER HAS DIED OF SHAME, AS HE SHOULD HAVE DONE YEARS AGO FOR THE MISTAKE OF MARRYING THAT WOMAN. HOW DARE YOU DO THIS TO OUR GOOD NAME, ADRIAN, HOW DARE YOU. _ –

“Like we’ve ever had a ‘good name’,” Adrian muttered, as the letter finally burst into flames, leaving a dusting of ash on her cereal.

“Was that…?” Terence trailed off. The Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor students turned back around, now that the show seemed over.

“Cousin Brianna?” Adrian finished, lifting her cereal bowl and trying to blow the ash off. “Yeah. She’s late this year. Usually get one of those in July.”

“It was  _ you _ ,” Draco said suddenly, still staring at Adrian. The rest of the Slytherin table perked up, sensing fresh entertainment. “It was you that-”

“Kid, even Cousin Brianna managed not to say  _ what _ I did, exactly, in that Howler,” Adrian cut in. She gave the cereal up as a lost cause, and grabbed a bagel instead. “Thank that might be for a  _ reason?  _ If you’ve figured it out, why don’t you do that ‘respectable family’ a favor and keep your mouth shut?”

Draco flushed. “How is it a  _ favor _ to not let people know that you-”

“Got what I wanted?” Adrian spun the bagel around on her index finger. “Didn’t have to give up a single thing?  _ Won? _ ” She grabbed a small breadknife out of the cutlery jar next to the nearest pitcher of pumpkin juice, and started sawing the bagel open. “I guess if you  _ really _ want to let people know that I fooled-”

“You didn’t!” Draco snapped, shooting to his feet. Vincent and Gregory hastily got to their feet too, framing Draco as he slammed his hands on the table. “You didn’t fool him!”

“You’re sure confident for a kid that didn’t even  _ know _ it was  _ me _ until that Howler showed up,” Adrian said. She gave the breadknife a critical eye, put it aside, and grabbed a butter knife and a dish of cream cheese. Terence snickered, earning a glare from Draco.

“What’s going on?” a small voice from Harry’s right asked. He looked over and saw one of the new first-years, Agnes he thought her name was, staring up at him in concern, hands still poised over her ears.

“Just some, er, politics,” Harry assured her quietly. “Don’t worry, they’ll stop soon-”

“ _ My father does not ‘scamper’! _ ” Draco yelled. Agnes’ eyes went as wide as saucers.

“Nah, he did,” Adrian said. She took a large bit of bagel, and her next sentence came out rather muffled. “Mos’ people do, leaving Dotterel wi’ the furniture after ‘em.”

Draco’s jaw dropped. “Dotterel?” he repeated. “Dotterel Keep?” Adrian nodded. “You actually  _ live _ in that horror? I thought-”

“ ‘s not tha’ bad,” Adrian said. She chased the bagel down with a swig of pumpkin juice, and wiped her mouth. “If you know what to-”

“That ruin has more cursed, illegal shit in one room than we do in our whole house!”

“You wanna say that louder, Malfoy? I think maybe  _ one _ of Arthur Weasley’s kids didn’t hear you.”

Draco shot a nervous look towards the Gryffindor table, but, as it was all the way at the other side of the Great Hall, the Weasley siblings hadn’t actually been paying any attention to them since the Howler finished. Before he could say anything else, the warning bells for morning classes chimed. Adrian wrapped the rest of her bagel in a handkerchief, shoving it into the same pocket as her schedule. Harry quietly wished Agnes ‘good luck’ with her first day of classes, and hurried after the other third-year Slytherins to History.

Harry spent Professor Binns’ class surreptitiously checking his new schedule under his desk. They’d have Defense Against the Dark Arts before lunch, and one of their third year electives in the afternoon; Care of Magical Creatures. Harry was looking forward to that; a class with Hermione that wasn’t  _ Potions _ . He was also hoping Professor Lupin was a better Defense teacher than Lockhart, who’d simply had them playact scenes from his books, or Quirrell, who’d been too jumpy to teach properly, and then tried to kill Harry at the end of the year.

Thankfully the bell signaling the end of class rang before Professor’s Binns’ monotone lecture could put Harry to sleep, and he shoved his blank notebook back into his bag. Both Millicent and Vincent were less fortunate, and Gregory shook their shoulders to wake them up. Normally Draco would have woken Vincent, but he was distracted, fuming over the scene at breakfast.

Professor Lupin was leaning against this desk when the third-years arrived, with a rather battered briefcase lying next to one hand. Up close and in the bright light of the classroom, it was even more obvious how frequently his robes had been patched (with extremely neat stitches).

“Good morning,” Lupin said, as everyone filed in. “Please don’t sit down, we’ll be leaving again after roll call, for a practical lesson.” Curious, they remained standing. Lupin shortly led them to the staff room, and drew their attention to a wardrobe in one corner, older and more battered than his briefcase. As they drew closer, it lurched; all of the students sprang back.

“A bit disconcerting, isn’t it?” Lupin said, in the same sort of tone someone might say “Lovely weather today.” He nodded to the wardrobe, and drew his wand. “What do you suppose is causing that? Yes, Tracey?”

“A Rotwood Hex,” Tracey said, lowering her hand.

“I’m afraid not,” Lupin said. “There would be a distinct odor, were that the case. Blaise?”

“A boggart,” Blaise said. Lupin nodded, and Blaise smirked at Tracey when the teacher turned away. The rest of the class took yet another step back from the wardrobe.

“This particular boggart moved in recently,” Lupin said. “The Headmaster gave me permission to keep it in here, until all of the third-years have had a chance to face it. The boggart is an odd sort of dark creature; it is technically quite easy to defeat, but has managed to make most wizards  _ think _ it’s difficult. Who can tell me why?”

“It takes on the form of your worst fear,” Pansy said, not bothering to raise her hand first. “You just need two witches to confuse it. Mother had me help destroy one before I ever came to Hogwarts.” She gave the other students a smug smile. “I don’t like scorpions, and she hates balloons. It turned into a scorpion shaped balloon, and its own stinger popped it so the air came out.”

“And what happened then?” Lupin asked, with evident interest.

“Next?” Pansy frowned. “Mother banished it with  _ Riddikulus _ , of course.”

“And before that?”

Pansy’s smug look drained from her face, replaced with an embarrassed flush. “Well, um, it looked so silly, half deflated and squeaking, that I, um, I started laughing.”

“ _ Excellent _ ,” Lupin said, smiling kindly at her. “Pansy, that was  _ exactly _ what your mother needed you to do. The Riddikulus Charm both repels the boggart, and can force it into a silly shape when one is alone, but the boggart is  _ truly _ defeated by laughter.” He turned to the rest of the class. “I’m going to let the boggart out in a minute, and we shall take turns fighting it, and eventually force it back into the wardrobe for the next class to face. Please imagine now what frightens you most, and how you can make it silly.” He demonstrated the Riddikulus Charm, and everyone began mimicking the required motion with their wands, and muttering things under their breath.

For a brief moment, Harry thought of Professor Quirrell stumbling backwards towards him, hands groping the air while Voldemort’s face shrieked for Harry’s death. But then the image morphed, grew taller and cloaked. Harry couldn’t take his eyes from the wardrobe, picturing the door of the train compartment, dreading the dementor stepping over the threshold…

“Everyone ready?” Lupin called.  _ No _ , Harry wanted to say, but his mouth wouldn’t work, and Lupin was pointing his wand at the wardrobe’s door handle. “Daphne, if you would step forward please.”

Lupin magicked the door open, and Daphne, trembling, pointed her wand at the pair of severed feet that came dancing out, clad in red silk ballet slippers.

“ _ Riddikulus! _ ” the slippers’ ribbons tied themselves together, causing the bloody feet to trip, their dance spoiled. Daphne giggled.

“Gregory!”

A large tarantula was rendered funny by a small party hat. Draco’s hedgehog received tiny corks at the end of each spine. Millicent stepped forward, and Vincent’s snarling, tailless terrier (now sporting a bright pink bow as a muzzle) turned into something a bit like an emaciated troll; it was six feet tall, with a spindly, leather body and curled feet and hands. Its head, though, looked like a very large, knobbly potato. It reached for Millicent.

“ _ Riddikulus! _ ” the tall creature was forced into a bright blue tunic, clogs, and a conical red hat. Reminded of the garden decorations one of the Dursleys’ neighbors had, and the way Aunt Petunia’s lips would twist up as she called them “vulgar”, Harry burst out laughing at the same time Millicent did.

“Don’t be a baby, Theo,” Pansy said, laughing as she pulled Theodore out of the corner he’d wedged himself into, all the way across the room from the wardrobe. “Give it a go!” She shoved him past Blaise into the middle of the room.

The giant garden gnome morphed with a loud  _ crack _ into a tall wizard wearing old-fashioned robes. Despite being taller and thinner, he bore a striking resemblance to Uncle Vernon, face purpling with rage as he spotted Theodore. “ _ You dare bring vermin into this house!” _

Theodore did not raise his wand, or shout  _ Riddikulus! _ or even retreat back to his corner. He stood absolutely still, face expressionless as the roaring boggart advanced. Professor Lupin moved forward but Harry, acting on instinct, grabbed the back of Theodore’s robes and spun him out of the way.

Unfortunately, this put  _ Harry _ closest to the boggart. His hands went slack, letting go of the fabric, as sobbing screams filled his ears. The staff room was dark and cold, he couldn’t move, he needed to help the screaming woman, he needed to  _ help her why can’t I move I can’t  _ **_move_ ** -

“ _ Riddikulus! _ ”

The light returned. Lupin was sending the boggart, now a silvery orb, back into the wardrobe. Harry took a deep, shuddering breath. Daphne quietly took his arm and drew him closer to the staff room’s fireplace; his hands prickled as warmth returned.

“Excellent work,” Lupin said, once the wardrobe door clicked shut, drawing everyone’s attention away from Harry. “And a very good demonstration of the importance of teamwork, when tackling a boggart, no matter how good one is at Riddikulus. Let me see…” He looked around the room. “Five points for everyone who faced the boggart, as well as for Blaise and Pansy for correct answers. And I think an additional five for Harry, for quick thinking. And now I believe you are all have lunch waiting for you in the Great Hall. Please be sure to avail yourselves of the hot chocolate.”

Everyone trailed out into the hall. Harry and Theodore found themselves at the tail end of the group, and exchanged a brief, embarrassed look. Neither of them had managed to get out the Riddikulus Charm when facing the boggart. Leofflaed wriggled out of Theodore’s bookbag and up his sleeve. He petted her softly as they walked.

In a dusty corridor few floors away from the Great Hall, Millicent stopped walking and held up one hand. “We need to talk.”

“Talk about what?” Draco sneered. “What a waste of time that lesson was?”

“You didn’t think it was a waste when you corked that Knarl,” Tracey said, frowning at him. “Looked pretty proud, you did.”

“I thought it was a hedgehog?” Harry said.

“No, Knarls are a little more ginger,” Millicent explained. The hedgehog-boggart  _ had _ looked orange-ish brown, instead of grey-ish brown, now Harry thought about it, but that might’ve been from the firelight. “This is what I mean, though. We need to agree, now, not to talk about those boggarts outside of class. I don’t want anyone knowing I’m scared of the Gnome Knight.”

“Or I’m scared of Crups,” Vincent rumbled. Draco looked at him in surprise, as though he’d forgotten the tailless terrier, and then patted Vincent on the arm.

“So if anyone asks about today’s lesson, we just say it was interesting.” Millicent glared at her classmates. “Got it?”

“Got it,” everyone chorused.

Theodore turned down to the dungeons when they arrived at the entrance hall, saying he didn’t want Leofflaed coming to Care of Magical Creatures. He was nearly late to the afternoon class, cramming a sandwich into his mouth as he scurried across the grounds. Even with the Gryffindors trudging with an unusual despondency, Theodore barely caught up to the group before they reached the edge of Hagrid’s garden.

“Are you all right?” Daphne whispered.

“ ‘m fine,” Theodore muttered back, finishing off the sandwich as Hagrid strode over to them from his cabin.

“C’mon, now, get a move on!” Hagrid boomed out cheerfully. Fang had come with him, and gave Harry a friendly lick before gallumphing back to Hagrid. “Got a real treat for yeh today! Great lesson comin’ up! Everyone here? Right, follow me!”

“What’s with the Gryffindors?” Harry asked Hermione, falling into step with her as they followed Hagrid towards a nearby paddock. He’d drunk two cups of cocoa at lunch and was feeling much better, if still mad at himself for not being able to fight the boggart. “You’re all…glum.”

“We had Divination this morning,” Hermione said, rolling her eyes. “Professor Trelawney’s worse than a dementor for sucking the joy out of a room, I swear. Told Lavender something she’s dreading will happen, and warned Neville he’d be late next week, and gave the  _ fakest _ scream when she read my tea leaves.” Hermione frowned.

“Why’d she scream?” Harry asked, curious.

“Said there was a death omen in my cup,” Hermione said, raising her chin. “Said I was going to lose someone close to me. Well everyone knows you nearly died the last two years, and she started going on about  _ rule of three _ and how people  _ use up their chances _ . Load of rubbish. Professor McGonagall told us Trelawney predicts a death every year and no one’s died yet, but they’re all convinced you’re doomed.”

“Fantastic,” Harry said. Most of the other Slytherins had also signed up for Divination, despite Terence’s description of it last year making it sound even more grim than this. “Glad I’m not taking it. I don’t fancy my cuppa telling me I’m going to kick it.”

“What  _ did _ you sign up for?” Hermione asked.

“First things yeh need to do is open yer books,” Hagrid said, before Harry could answer. Everyone was lined up around the outside of the paddock now.

“How?” Draco asked, pulling his out and showing the rope he’d bound it with.

“Eh?” Hagrid looked around in dismay as everyone else held up their restrained books. Longbottom’s was growling and shaking so hard Harry was surprised he was still hanging onto it. Parvati Patil had put bells on the ends of the cord restraining hers, so it jingled.

“How do we open our books?” Draco repeated.

“Hasn’t – hasn’t anyone been able ter open their books?”

“I have,” Harry lied loudly. “But it’s hard to describe, so could you maybe show everyone?” Harry held his copy of  _ The Monster Book of Monsters _ to Hagrid. He took it with a silently mouthed  _ thank you _ , and handed Harry back his belt, which Harry buckled on over his robes to keep out of the way.

“Yeh gots to do  _ this _ ,” Hagrid said, and ran one enormous thumb down the spine of the snarling book. It shuddered, stilled, and flopped open. Quickly, everyone copied him, as Hagrid returned Harry’s with a pleased smile. “All right, now page fifteen. Hippogriffs. That’s what we’re meeting today.”

Harry ran his fingers over the beautiful watercolor illustration of the half-horse, half-eagle creature. As he did, the watercolors bled out to the edge of the page, leaving an ink drawing of the hippogriff’s muscle structure. Another stroke sent the ink rippling away, to reveal a pencil sketch of the underlying bones. A final stroke brought the ink and watercolors back, and the illustration shook itself and stamped its back hooves.

“We’re meeting these?” Lavender Brown asked, eyes shining.

Hagrid nodded. “Firs’ things firs’, though. Hippogriffs are proud, prouder than any of yeh. Don’t never insult one, ‘cause it might be the last thing yeh ever do. Yer learning how to greet ‘em today. Just a minute, now.” He jogged away into the edge of the Forbidden Forest.

“God, this place is going to the dogs,” Draco said, as soon as a Hagrid was out of sight. “That oaf teaching classes, my father will-”

“Not do anything, ‘cause he got kicked off the board of governors last year?” Harry said, glaring. Draco bristled, and took a menacing step towards Harry.

“Wow,” Daphne said softly, drawing everyone’s attention back to the forest. A dozen hippogriffs in leather collars were being led into the paddock by Hagrid, who attached their long chains to various points along the sturdy wooden fence.

“Who wants ter get introduced first?” Hagrid asked cheerfully. Everyone took a step back; they looked much fiercer in the flesh, with long talons and sharp beaks. Harry forced himself to step forward again. The Gryffindors let out a collective gasp, and Hermione huffed in annoyance behind him.

“Right then,” Hagrid said, helping Harry climb over the fence. “Yeh want to make eye contact, bow, and see what the hippogriff does. If he bows back, yer allowed to touch ‘im. If not, back off sharpish, ‘cause those talons hurt. Let’s see how yeh get on with Buckbeak.”

Hagrid unchained a handsome grey hippogriff, and led it to the middle of the paddock. Harry looked into Buckbeak’s orange eyes, and suddenly remembered meeting the basilisk; this was a large, dangerous creature, and if Buckbeak decided to eat Harry there wasn’t much he could do. But…the hippogriff might like him. Harry bowed deeply. When he looked back up, Buckbeak had turned his head to focus on Harry with one eye.

Slowly, the hippogriff bowed back, bending its scaled front knees.

Hagrid let out a sigh of relief. “Well done, Harry! Yeh can pet ‘im now, go on!”

Harry gulped, but moved closer, shoes sliding across the wet grass, and gently ran one hand along the hippogriff’s feathered neck. Buckbeak closed his eyes, and Harry repeated the motion.

“Reckon he’d let you ride ‘im, Harry,” Hagrid said, but Harry shook his head, still petting Buckbeak.

“I’d rather keep my feet on the ground, today, thanks,” Harry said. He looked over at the fence, and saw Pansy and Tracey were whispering to Theodore about something; he had a closed, shut off expression, and one hand was clenched around the pocket his rat usually slept in. “Why don’t you ask Theo?”

“Nott!” Hagrid called. Theodore jumped. “Come meet Fleetwing.”

Theodore wiggled between two beams of the fence instead of climbing over, and was soon exchanging bows with a chestnut hippogriff. Fleetwing was more vocal than Buckbeak, chirping when Theodore stroked her feathers.

“Yeh want ter try flying with her, Nott?” Hagrid asked. Theodore nodded, and Hagrid helped him on to Fleetwing’s back before removing the chain from her collar. The other hippogriffs stamped their hooves and talons when she shot off, and Harry covered his face, yesterday’s rain whipping up from the grass under the short, strong wind her beating wings produced.

The Gryffindors and Slytherins craned their necks upwards, jaws dropping, as Fleetwing did a short loop around the sky above the paddock. The hippogriff landed less than a minute later, letting out a long, croaking trill when she dug her talons into the grass.

“Well done!” Hagrid said, plucking Theodore, a bit green around the gills but grinning, off of the hippogriff. “Now, who else wants ter try?”

Reassured that neither Harry nor Theodore had become eagle chow, the rest of the class clamored to meet the hippogriffs. Shortly everyone was inside the paddock (Hagrid had opened a gate, when Longbottom nearly gave himself a concussion trying to climb the fence) and bowing to the herd. Or was it a flock? Harry leaned against a fence post, and dug his tamed textbook out of his bag to check.

“Should’ve known this wasn’t hard,” Draco said loudly. He’d bowed to Buckbeak the minute that Harry cleared off, and was patting the grey hippogriff’s beak. “If those two  _ babies _ could do it, it must easy.” Harry ignored him, scanning the text. It  _ was _ a herd. “I bet you’re not dangerous at all,” Draco continued. “Are you, you great ugly brute?”

His sudden scream made Harry drop his textbook. Draco was on the ground, Hagrid was wrestling Buckbeak away from him, and there was a bright splash of crimson on the hippogriff’s talons.

“I’m dying!” Draco gasped, clutching at his arm. “It’s killed me!”

“You’re not dying, you tosser,” Theodore said, in a tone that implied he’d heard Draco’s  _ those two babies _ comment. “Get up and go see Madam Pomfrey, rolling on the ground won’t do you any good.”

“Clear the way,” Hagrid said, trying to carefully and swiftly get through the crowd of students around Draco. “Clear the way, now. Up yeh go lad.” He slid his great hands under Draco and lifted him off the wet grass. “Everyone out o’ the paddock!” The crowd followed Hagrid out, and Ron Weasley helped Harry get the gate shut behind them, as Hagrid ran for the castle, Draco cradled in his arms.

“I’m making sure he’s all right!” Pansy said, hurrying ahead of the others.

“He’s  _ fine _ ,” Theodore snapped, and Tracey shot him a glare before chasing after Pansy.

“Some first day,” Ron muttered. He gave Harry a worried look. “Dunno if Hermione mentioned it, but in Divination, our professor-”

“Said I was gonna die?” Harry said. He’d honestly forgotten, in the excitement over the hippogriffs, and Draco getting hurt. “Hermione said it was rubbish.”

“Yeah, well, did you tell her that Black’s after  _ you _ ?”

Harry ran a hand through his hair, taking a quick glance at Hermione talking quietly with Dean Thomas and Parvati Patil ahead of them. “No. She’s got enough on her plate, I think she’s taking like, a dozen classes or something.”

“No way,” Ron said in disbelief. “There’s not enough hours in the day!”

“Did you  _ see _ her bookbag?” Harry asked. He shrugged. “Maybe she’s doing independent study, I dunno.” He fled to the dungeons once they reached the entrance hall, not keen for Ron to get the topic back on how likely he was to die this year.

Pansy was crying when she got back to the Slytherin common room.

“Madam Pomfrey won’t let us see him!” she sobbed into Millicent’s shoulder, while Tracey stroked her hair. “She said we’re  _ disruptive! _ ”

“Don’t worry, she never lets anyone in,” Daphne said.

“She let the whole Quidditch team in for  _ him _ !” Pansy said, pointing dramatically at Harry. “It ought to be him in there, he was the first one to touch that beast! Why did it have to hurt  _ Draco? _ ”

“Because Draco didn’t listen to the teacher and called Buckbeak an ‘ugly brute’,” Theodore said. He’d retrieved Leofflaed from the dorm, and was twirling a piece of string longwise over his Potions textbook, so the rat could play skip-rope. “It’s just like breakfast, if Draco could keep his mouth shut, he wouldn’t embarrass himself.”

“You’re one to talk about embarrassment!” Pansy shrieked, pushing away from Millicent and storming over. “You can’t even fight a measly boggart without going to pieces!”

“Thought we weren’t talking about that,” Theodore said, the string going still. Leofflaed squeaked sadly, and Theodore started twirling it for her again.

“We agreed not to say what they  _ were _ ,” Pansy sneered.

“Oy! Pipe down!” a sixth-year shouted from one corner. “Some of us have  _ studying _ to do!”

“Oh, go to the library!” Pansy snapped, but she dropped the argument, crossing her arms and throwing herself down into an armchair to sulk.

Hagrid wasn’t at dinner the night, and Harry got a horrible knot in his stomach. What if he’d been sacked? He’d been so excited to start the first class, and he’d been the groundskeeper  _ forever _ . They wouldn’t sack him just because of this, would they?

“Calm down, eat your peas,” Terence instructed from across the table, passing a tureen down to another fifth-year. “It’s not like Kettleburn’s classes were any  _ less _ dangerous.”

“Did Kettleburn ever let third-years close enough to hippogriffs to get clawed?” Harry asked, nudging a pea across his plate morosely. A few yards away, Tracey told one of the sixth-year prefects about their disastrous Care of Magical Creatures class. Draco was still in the hospital wing.

“Hippogriffs were fourth year for us,” Adrian said. “But he brought in a baby griffin our third year, and it nearly took a bite out of Graham. Chased him up a tree, too.”

“Nearly,” Harry repeated glumly. Hermione waved to him from across the hall. Harry waved back, and she pointed towards Hagrid’s empty seat, and then the door. Adrian spun around just as Hermione repeated herself; Adrian swore, and held her arms up in an X formation.

“No, you’re not sneaking out to see Mr. Hagrid tonight,” Adrian said firmly, before Harry could protest. “If he misses breakfast tomorrow, you can go talk to him at lunch.”

“It’s not even curfew for hours,” Harry pointed out.

Terence frowned. “Surprised they haven’t changed that, actually. If things are bad enough to surround the school with dementors, you’d think it was bad enough to extend curfew.”

“Well it’s only pipsqueak here that Black’s after, isn’t it?” Adrian said, ladling more soup into her bowl. “So they don’t care if the rest of us go wandering around.”

“What do you mean, Black’s only after Harry?” Terence said. “They didn’t tell the prefects that! And we’re supposed to be keeping everyone safe, too.” He ripped a bread roll in half, and dunked it angrily into his own soup.

“He might not be after me,” Harry said, rolling his eyes. “All Mr. Weasley said was that Black was muttering ‘ _ he’s at Hogwarts _ ’ in his sleep, that’s all. There’s loads of people at Hogwarts that could mean.”

Adrian and Terence’s eyebrows rose in synch. “Hadn’t heard  _ that _ ,” Adrian said. “All the older students just figured he was after you because he’d turned out to be working for You-Know-Who.”

“Well, Professor Dumbledore was Voldemort’s  _ actual _ worst enemy,” Harry said, stabbing at his peas with his fork, sending several flying. Terence and Adrian winced. “And  _ he’s _ at Hogwarts. Maybe Black’s after the Headmaster, and all the security is useless because Professor Dumbledore’s unbeatable.”


	5. Every Lesson We Learned Took So Long

Hagrid, to Harry’s relief, was back at the head table for breakfast the next morning. Harry wolfed down his own breakfast and hurried over.

“Aye, I’m all right,” Hagrid said. His eyes had a bloodshot look that belied this, but Harry didn’t say anything. “Smart of yeh ter ask today. Hermione and Ron came down last night, had to walk ‘em back to the castle. Not good ter be out in the dark right now.”

The bell rang before they could talk anymore. Harry went back to the dungeons for Potions class. Snape did not bother with a roll call, setting everyone to brewing a Shrinking Potion the moment they sat down.

Over the first hour it proved clear that Harry hadn’t been mistaken, at the Beginning of Year Feast, when he’d noticed Snape’s eyes slide past him. The Potions master didn’t bother looking at how Harry was cutting his daisy roots, or pause by his lab table when inspecting everyone’s half-made potions. He didn’t even tell Harry to be careful, when he slipped while skinning his shrivelfig and the horrible thing went flying across the room and landed on Seamus Finnigan’s head.

It was just like Harry’s first few months of school, two years ago. Snape had ignored him completely in class and out, as though Harry were invisible and inaudible. And the most frustrating thing was that Harry still didn’t know  _ why _ .

Draco strolled into class halfway through, arm wrapped in bandages and a sling, and clearly enjoying the fuss Pansy made over him. He enjoyed making Ron Weasley cut up his ingredients for him even more, and as a Gryffindor, all Ron’s protests that he needed time to cut up his  _ own _ ingredients got him was house points taken away.

Harry was just wondering what he could do to his own Shrinking Potion to make Snape stop ignoring him, when Snape started laying into Longbottom. Everyone else’s potion was green; Longbottom’s was orange. Daphne was grimly making adjustments to hers to turn it from a swamp green to a more acidic shade, but at least it wasn’t  _ orange _ .

“At the end of this lesson,” Snape declared, sneering at Longbottom’s cauldron. “We will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.”

Everyone stared at Longbottom’s snoring toad Trevor, perched at the end of the lab table. Normally quite reliable about escaping Longbottom’s nervous care at every opportunity, Trevor seemed content to continue napping while everyone finished up their potions, oblivious to his doom.

Ron glared at Snape while he brewed, and Hermione furtively whispered instructions to Longbottom, despite Snape’s warning against exactly such a thing. Harry looked down at this own potion, acid green and the exact consistency the book called for at this stage. If Snape hadn’t even responded to a flying shrivelfig skin, would he react if Harry just…swapped his cauldron for Longbottom’s?

Harry glanced at Trevor; no, couldn’t risk it. Snape didn’t need to acknowledge his existence to hunt down the right cauldron. Maybe if Harry pretended to trip, and knocked it over? But he wasn’t really sure what an improperly brewed Shrinking Potion would do to the floor. . .

Snape made everyone clear away from their cauldrons for the last stages of brewing, as it needed to stew undisturbed for a time. Struck by inspiration, Harry made sure his route to the wall took him past Longbottom’s table. Without stopping, he scooped the sleeping toad up and shoved it down the front of his robes, cinching the corded belt he wore over it tight, so Trevor wouldn’t simply fall to the floor.

Daphne noticed the bulge first, and clapped her hands over her mouth, trying to stifle down giggles. Dean Thomas noticed next, and flashed Harry a thumb’s up and a grin. Longbottom, desperately trying to fix his potion in the time left, hadn’t even noticed his toad vanish.

Finally, when everyone had washed their tools and put away the spare ingredients, and there were only a few minutes left in class, Snape swept over to Longbottom’s cauldron. Everyone circled around, the students who hadn’t observed Harry’s amphibious theft laughing nastily or biting their nails nervously.

Snape produced a teaspoon from his pocket, and spoke imperiously to the class as he reached for the spot where Trevor had been sleeping. “Now, if Longbottom has produced a proper Shrinking-” his hand closed on empty air. He blinked, turning to look at the lab table.

“Where,” Snape said, in a dangerously voice soft, while Longbottom quaked. “Has your familiar gone?”

There was a distinct croak from Harry’s robes.

Slowly, unwillingly, Snape’s eyes were drawn from the lab table, past the cauldron of now green potion, and to the bulge at the front of Harry’s robes, which started to wiggle. Harry put his hands over the fabric, under Trevor, and stared at Snape.  _ Look at me _ , Harry thought.  _ Go on, look at my face and take points from Slytherin for this, I dare you _ .

Trevor croaked again. Snape’s eye twitched, but he didn’t look any higher, still staring in foiled rage at Harry’s stomach when the bell ending class rang out. Everyone bolted for the door; Harry deliberately paused in front of Gregory, to make sure the last Gryffindor could get out while there were still a few Slytherins in the room. He scooped up his bookbag with one hand, the other still keeping Trevor in place, and jogged up the stairs to the entrance hall.

“You saved him!”

“You’re welcome,” Harry said, loosening his belt so that Trevor slid down his leg and landed with a large  _ plop _ on the floor. Longbottom whisked the toad up and clutched it to his chest. “Maybe don’t bring him to class again?” Harry suggested.

“What on Earth did you do  _ that _ for?” Draco asked, as Longbottom hurried off into the Great Hall.

“Maybe I like earning favors,” Harry said, grinning at him. “You should try it some time.”

~~~

Harry wasn’t sure what to do with himself on Friday after the morning Astronomy lecture let out; he’d never had so much time clear on a weekday before this. Nearly all of his yearmates were off at Divination (Daphne had opted for Study of Ancient Runes instead, Terence’s warning about strong smells reminding her a bit too much of Potions), but Harry’s second elective class wouldn’t start until Monday. Quidditch practice didn’t begin until tomorrow. He went back to the Slytherin dungeon and curled up with his textbooks under one of the huge windows that viewed the lake from beneath. The light was dancing; there’d been heavy rain on the Great Hall’s ceiling.

“Are you really Harry Potter?”

Harry looked up from his Charms textbook. The first-year who’d been scared of the row at breakfast Wednesday stood next to the windowsill, face scrunched up in thought as she looked at him.

“Yes,” Harry said. “And you’re Agnes, right? Don’t you have class right now?”

“It’s lunch,” Agnes said. “Needed more quills.” She hiked her bookbag higher up her shoulder, and lost the scrunched expression. “One of the older boys told me not to talk to you. After the other day, with the shouting. He said you were a disgrace to the house, but wouldn’t  _ nobody _ be talking to you, if you were?”

“…maybe?” Harry blinked. A few other Slytherins had hissed insults at him in the halls (Draco was  _ far _ from the only one humiliated by the Heir of Slytherin disaster last year) but this was the first he’d heard of being badmouthed to first-years. “Who told you that?’

“Horace- no, that’s wrong. Hortimer? No. Horatio?”

“Horatio Pershore?” Harry asked, thinking of Even Pershore’s little brother, a second-year.

“Yes!” Agnes nodded. “He said you were bad blood, and disloyal, and I’d avoid you if I knew what was good for me. Seemed to think it was good advice, and wanted to borrow my inkpot for being so generous.”

Harry took in the scrapes on her knuckles, standing out as she gripped the strap of her bookbag tighter, so it wouldn’t slip again. “You told him to shove off,” Harry guessed.

Agnes shrugged. “I told him I needed it to take notes, and asked why he didn’t borrow from someone in his own class. Then he ‘tripped’ and knocked me into the wall.” For all she’d gone wide-eyed over shouting, Agnes didn’t seem very bothered to talk about getting pushed around. “They did that at my old school too, you know. Since I never took  _ their _ ‘advice’ to stop being a freak.”

“You went to a Muggle school too?” Harry asked, surprised. He hadn’t met many other Slytherins who’d talk about it, if they had.

“I’m a half-blood,” Agnes said. Her face scrunched up again. “That’s the right word, isn’t it? When it’s just one of your parents?”

“Yeah.” Harry patted a cushion next to him on the windowsill. “Put your quills up here for a second.”

Agnes fished the broken quills from her bag, and laid them out. One by one, Harry pointed his wand at them and uttered “ _ Reparo! _ ” until only two were left; these Agnes fixed herself, having watched his wand motions carefully.

“Thanks,” Agnes said, stuffing them back into her bag. Near the fire, one of the few older students with a free period started cussing loudly at their homework. Agnes jumped.

“It’s still lunch, right?” Harry said quickly, swinging himself down out of the sill. Agnes checked her wristwatch, purple with daisies on the strap, and nodded. “Great, I’m starving.” He shoved his hands into the pockets of his robes and hurried for the door, wanting to make sure Agnes got back to the Great Hall in time to eat before her afternoon classes. “You can see Pomfrey about your knuckles, you know,” he added. “Can’t use the Reparo charm, it’s only good on inanimate stuff.”

“They’re fine,” Agnes said. “Better than Horatio’s face.”

“Yeah?”

“I tripped him back,” Agnes said. “He’s up there now getting his front teeth glued back together.”

~~~

“Right, listen up!” Marcus Flint snapped. Assembled in a scraggly line in the middle of the pitch, the rest of the Slytherin Quidditch team attempted to give their captain an attentive look. Draco, still wearing his sling and distracted by Gregory, Pansy, Tracey, and Vincent eating their breakfasts up in the stands, was the least successful. 

“Our Keeper’s out for a while,” Marcus said, nodding to Draco. “And we don’t know when he can play again, so-”

“Doesn’t Pomfrey fix cuts up in a minute?” Adrian asked, frowning in confusion. “I mean, she regrew Potter’s bones overnight.”

“Hippogriff wounds are tricky,” Draco said, shrugging his uninjured shoulder.

“ _ So we’re holding tryouts next month _ ,” Marcus said. “Just for more players, if they’re better at Chasing or Beating we’ll shuffle people around.” Harry noted that Marcus hadn’t said anything about new players being better at  _ Seeking _ , and tried not to grin. “In the meantime, Malfoy’s sitting over with the equipment box, we don’t want the Charter acting up.”

There was a collective shudder from the older team members.

“What’s that mean?” Draco asked.

“You read the team charter posted up in the locker room, right?” Graham Montague asked.

“That wall covered in words?” Harry asked. He’d glanced at it, but since the wall also held the pegs for spare robes, it hadn’t seemed worth it to really sit down and read.

“Yeah,” Lucian Bole said. He cast a nervous glance over his shoulder in the direction of the locker room. Marcus rolled his eyes.

“If someone misses three or more practices in a row, they’re off the team,” Terence explained. “And you gotta bring your robes back in three days, if you’re off, or the Charter gets tetchy. Captain can just say ‘you’re back on the team’ and it’s all right, but if they forget…”

Everyone shuddered again.

“How long did it take us to get Miles down off the roof?” Adrian asked.

“Would everyone shut up and focus?” Marcus snapped. “Malfoy, let one Bludger out and toss me the Quaffle.” Draco ambled towards the equipment box. “We’re doing a long match today,” Marcus explained. “No Snitch. Bole, Montague, you’re doubling up on Beating and Keeping. Stay in the goal zone, the rest of you need to get better at dodging. Potter, you’re playing Chaser today, you and Higgs are a team.”

Harry had only played as a Chaser once before, during an informal post-practice match early last year. It was fun, but awkwardly different from Seeking. He had to race for the Quaffle, but instead of relaxing once he caught it, became even more of a target. As a Seeker, he needed to hold  _ back _ from catching the Snitch, if the Slytherin team was too far behind, or try to distract the other Seeker. Chasers never held back; no matter how many goals Terence made (Harry didn’t even manage one) they just had to keep going, trying for even more.

The weirdest part was seeing Adrian and Marcus as threats. Harry was used to avoiding Lucian and Graham, the Beaters, during practice matches, but the Chasers? Harry’s hands were bright red and stinging by the time Marcus called an end to the match, from how often Adrian had snatched the Quaffle from his grip, and he’d dodged Marcus’s elbows, feet, and broom bristles more often than the actual  _ Bludger _ .

“You did all right,” Terence said from the next shower stall over, while the boys were getting cleaned up. Adrian had already started her usual trek back to the castle alone. “I wouldn’t want you Chasing in an actual match, mind, but at least you never tried to score in the wrong goal.”

“Thanks,” Harry said sarcastically. He turned the water to icy cold and held his hands under it. “I feel loads better about losing fifty to two-thirty, really cheered up.”

“Woulda been fifty to three hundred, if you hadn’t managed all those blocks,” Terence said.

~~~

“You made it!” Hermione beamed up at Harry and Daphne from behind her stack of books. She’d laid claim to one of the larger library tables near a window. Harry stood at the far end, blinking owlishly at impressive sprawl of her homework. “I was worried they’d keep you all day, you weren’t at lunch.”

“Even the captain needs to eat,” Harry said, finally pulling out a chair across from her. Daphne nodded a brief thanks and sat down; Harry pulled out the chair next to her for himself. Hermione moved her Arithmancy and Transfiguration textbook unto the stack with Astronomy and Divination, so the two Slytherins could put their books down. “We got back before they cleared away the food. You leave early or something?”

“Best light at this table, it’s popular,” Hermione explained. “Here, give me your schedule, I want to block out study time for us.” She tilted her head at Daphne. “Are you making this a regular thing? Because then I need your schedule too.”

“Can’t we just meet here after class, like last year?” Harry asked, but he handed his schedule over anyway. Daphne slid hers across the table without a word.

Hermione sighed and waved her own schedule at them quickly. “My classes go later than yours! You still get out well before dinner, I’m not free until after that.”

“I’m  _ not  _ out ‘til dinner on Mondays,” Harry said. “And after dinner’s going to get taken over by Quidditch when the season gets going.”

“Thursday’s no good,” Hermione muttered, hardly hearing him, comparing everyone’s schedules. “I’ve got Astronomy that night, need to nap after dinner or I’ll be useless on Friday. And you two’ve got it on Tuesdays.”

“That still leaves Monday, Wednesday, and Friday evenings, until Quidditch takes over,” Harry said. Daphne quietly arranged her parchment, quill, and inkwell on the table while they talked. “And we can see Hagrid on weekends. That’s not bad at all.”

“I’ll be up in Gryffindor Tower, actually, on Wednesday evenings,” Hermione said. She fidgeted with her quill. “Neville’s feeling a bit behind on everything, since he was so nervous last year, it was hard to study, and he didn’t say anything, but you know how Ron is-”

“I don’t, actually,” Harry cut in; Hermione always forget Harry didn’t know the other Gryffindors the way she did. Daphne cast him a quick glance from the corner of her eyes, and Harry grimaced. He hadn’t meant to sound so sharp.

“Well, he looks out for Neville,” Hermione explained, unruffled. “So he asked if he and Neville could study with me, but the Tower’s better than the library for  _ really _ going over stuff, since you don’t have to worry about Pince breathing down your neck, or making it back before curfew, and Neville’s still really anxious about curfew, even though it’s so much later now we’re third-years. Anyway, Lavender and Parvati heard Ron asking, and wanted to join, and Dean and Seamus heard  _ them _ , and I’m sort of…in charge of a study group now.”

“That’s  _ every _ third-year Gryffindor, isn’t it?” Harry asked, smiling. “Yeah, I can see that being too noisy for the library.” He started pulling his own writing things from his bag to line up by his textbooks. “Meet you here after dinner Monday and Friday, then?”

Hermione nodded rapidly, making her hair bounce, and turned to Daphne. “That should fit in your schedule too,” she said, handing said schedule back. “Are you still only interested in Potions?”

“Not anymore,” Daphne said softly. “Might as well study whatever needs studying.”

Hermione beamed even brighter at this statement.

After about an hour of studying, during which time they’d mostly quietly asked each other questions about their first week of classes, the library door burst open, bouncing loudly against the wall. Madam Pince stormed over from her desk, scowling. Everyone in the door’s sigh-line glanced over, and several more students peered around the bookshelves.

“Sorry,” Terence said in a hoarse whisper, already closing the door behind him and Adrian. They were both flushed, shoulders shaking from rapid breaths, as though they’d been running. Adrian ran a hand over her head and took a deep gulp of air. As the two of them sidled deeper into the library, Adrian craned her neck to look around while Terence held up his hands placatingly and quietly assured the fuming librarian they hadn’t  _ meant _ to slam the door,  _ yes _ they would be quieter, so sorry, yes, sorry, thank you ma’am, sorry again.

Adrian spotted Harry and tugged on Terence’s arm, whispering something, and the two hurried over.

“Hello small fry,” Adrian said, lifting a chair up and drawing it from the table instead of just dragging it back and risking the sound of scraping. “Mind if we join you?”

“No…” Hermione said, as Terence scooted around the table and pulled out the chair next to her.

“Fantastic,” Adrian said. She and Terence hastily each grabbed a book from the top of her pile, despite the fact that the books were two years below theirs, still trying to calm their breathing. “How long’ve you been in here?” Adrian asked, flipping through the introductory chapter of Miranda Goshawks’  _ Standard Book of Spells Grade Three _ . “Nevermind, right, forgot you live here. D’you mind saying we’ve been here since lunch, if anyone asks?”

“Yes,” Hermione said immediately. Harry tried to kick her under the table, and got the leg of her chair instead. She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not lying for them!”

“You don’t have to lie for us, Granger,” Terence said calmly, looking focused on  _ Unfogging the Future _ by Cassandra Vablatsky. “Just don’t say anything when  _ we _ lie?”

“And why should I do that?” Hermione asked, offended.

“Because,” Daphne said, voice hardly more than a whisper. “They’ll owe us one. And Terence is a prefect this year, you  _ want _ him to owe you one.”

Hermione scowled, but before she could contradict this statement (Harry could practically see the Gryffindor Lion stamped across her face now) the door to the library burst open again.

“Really!” Madam Pince snapped. She planted herself firmly in front of Fred Weasley, George Weasley, and Katie Bell. All three of them were in Quidditch robes, the Gryffindor team having booked the field that afternoon since Slytherin had it in the morning. But instead of red trimmed with gold, their robes were mottled pink, trimmed with very pale yellow.

“This is a library, not a dance hall!” Madam Pince said. George Weasley smiled winningly, trying to talk her into letting them past, while Fred and Bell leaned around Madam Pince to peer at the study tables. “This is not the place for slamming of doors, and running feet, and other disruptive noises!”

Next to Harry, Adrian pressed  _ The Standard Book of Spells _ against her nose with one hand and shoved the knuckles of the other into her mouth, eyes wide to take in the sight of the furious, pink-clad Gryffindors. Terence was still holding  _ Unfogging the Future _ steadily, but biting the inside of his cheek, eyes wet from unshed tears of laughter.

“We’re here to study,” George told Madam Pince, and she raised her nose high in the air.

“In sweaty, grimy Quidditch robes?” she asked. Bell took a discrete whiff of her sleeve and pulled a face. “You may come back when your attire does not offend the nose, and you are able to open doors  _ quietly _ .”

“Of course,” George said, still smiling. “We’ll be back. Yes. Quietly.” Fred, finally spotting Terence and Adrian, pointed two fingers at his eyes, and then at the Slytherins. Terence pretended not to see, and Adrian’s grin was still hidden behind Hermione’s textbook. Bell waved to Harry when she saw where Fred was pointing. Harry waved back.

“Honestly,” Hermione huffed, as soon as the library door finally closed again with a soft  _ click _ . “You  _ had _ to hide in the  _ library? _ Doesn’t your dungeon have a password?”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, because the older students had just rolled their eyes. “But Gemma’d kill them if they were overheard saying it.” He nodded across the table at Terence. “Already had them on your tail?”

“Thought they started later,” Adrian muttered, idly dropping  _ the Standard Book of Spells _ back onto Hermione’s stack of books.

“This is why timetables are important,” Hermione said primly. Adrian grinned at her.

“How did you do it?” Daphne asked curiously. “Is it reversible?” Terence blinked at her, then handed Hermione back  _ Unfogging the Future _ , and dug in his pocket for something. He pulled his hand out empty, and frowned at his palm as though it had betrayed him.

“Ow!” Adrian glared at Terence. “What’d you kick me for?”

“Give Greengrass the list, we don’t need it anymore.”

“I thought you had it?”

Terence shook his head, so Adrian rummaged around in  _ her _ pockets. A handkerchief, green moleskin notebook, wand, jumble of string, half an apple (enchanted not to brown), very short quill, and pocket knife all landed on the table before Adrian finally handed a scrap of parchment past Harry to Daphne. Harry caught book titles and what looked like page numbers as it went by.

“Have fun,” Terence said.

~~~

Directly after lunch on Monday Harry slipped into a long, high-ceilinged classroom near the low bridge connecting Hogwarts’ two eastern Astronomy towers. One wall was lined with windows nearly tall and wide enough to rival the Slytherin dungeon’s, though they were less than an inch thick, rather than several yards; they didn’t need to keep the lake water from rushing in. The opposite wall was lined half with deep sinks, half with cupboards, and the narrow back wall held several mirrors, and a door leading to another room.

Harry snagged a stool short enough that he could actually keep his feet on the floor, and carried it over to the cluster of students near the front. Dean Thomas nodded in greeting, and so did Susan Bones from Hufflepuff. Both of the Patil twins were in the group too, perched on precariously high stools that they were making rock, holding onto each other’s arms for balance and giggling. To Harry’s surprise, there were four older students in the class as well. Hufflepuff Tamsin Applebee and Ravenclaw Duncan Inglebee were fourth-years; Lee Jordan had always been sure to point them out during the Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff Quidditch matches, getting a lot of mileage from their rhyming surnames. Harry knew Hirohisa Kubo, a fellow Slytherin, was in fifth year, and wondered if the Gryffindor girl he was talking to was as well. He caught the words “coxswain” and “oarlocks” in their low-voiced conversation, which explained both their familiarity and the hint of mania in their eyes; they must be on the inter-house rowing team.

“Good afternoon, everyone. I’m Professor Laurens.”

The teacher slipped into the room from round door next to the blackboard. He’d pulled his hair, as bushy as Hermione’s, into a knot at the base of his neck, and pinned a mauve beret to the top of his head. There was an interestingly stained smock on top of his robes, and it was from one deep pocket of this that he pulled a bit of parchment.

“Let’s do roll call first, eh?” Laurens said, as the students turned their attention to him. “Make sure everyone’s here, see if we need to form a rescue party for the missing. All right. Applebee, Tamsin?”

“Here, sir.”

The older Gryffindor turned out to be Rosalyn Ewhurst. Laurens got through roll call briskly, and Harry saw there was a sketch of an owl on the back of the name list.

“Welcome to Art,” Laurens said, tucking the list away. “First things first, it’s not on your schedules because I can’t get them to write it down if it’s not  _ mandatory _ attendance, but Friday afternoons and evenings are Open Studio time. I’ll be here from lunch until curfew, with a break for dinner, supervising the use of materials, giving critiques. Great time for peer review, too, and I encourage you to come in.”

Laurens nodded, and twined his fingers together. “Now, this should’ve been in your sign-up sheets, but there’s always a few who’re surprised; this class only gets through OWLs. Hogwarts doesn’t offer NEWTs in Art, I’m afraid.” There was a quiet, surprised gasp from Parvati, and Padma patted her hand. Harry just nodded; Gemma had sat Harry down and gone over the details of each elective last year, when she noticed him struggling to choose.

“Since the spellcasting necessary to create full portraiture is included in our OWLs,” Laurens continued. “The Board of Governors sees no need in funding anything past that, even if you’ll be decades from the  _ skill _ level required. However, anyone who gets an Acceptable or above will be welcome to use the Open Studio time for independent study, and there are a number of excellent books in the library regarding international standards.”

He cracked his knuckles, making Susan Bones wince. “Any questions?”

“Why isn’t this class available for younger students, sir?” Dean Thomas asked, raising his hand. “My old school had art units every year.”

“Well the cynical answer is, again, funding,” Laurens said. “The official answer is that you need a solid grounding in Charms and Potions first, and a bit of Transfiguration and Herbology, for a good third of our lessons. You’ll be learning to weather-proof your materials, mix paints, and eventually make your pieces take flight.” He made a fluttering motions with his hands. “For today, though, you’ll be sketching each other. Everyone pick a partner, please.”


	6. Here Comes This Rising Tide

September passed by slowly. Harry saved his regular homework for the evenings, taking advantage of the afternoon sun to fill his sketchbook. It was frustrating, at first, as Harry wrestled with the vast chasm between what his eyes saw and what his hands got down on the page. Almost everyone else in class was frustrated too, though, which helped, and Professor Laurens was unerringly encouraging.

“Every diseased daisy is one more petal closer to a glorious gladiola,” he assured them. “Who here plays music? Your sketchbook is scales and rehearsal, not a concert. Don’t worry about sour notes, just play.”

Harry began carrying his sketchbook everywhere except Quidditch practice. Hermione rolled her eyes when he jotted down her profile during their study sessions, but tried to peek at the result when he wasn’t looking. Hagrid’s classes were sadly dull, as he’d switched from things like hippogriffs to flobberworms, which had no sharp edges or peculiar toxins to harm anyone with, but he beamed when Harry asked to sketch him one Sunday, and sat very, very still until Harry put his charcoal down.

(their very first set of charms had been one to get the excess charcoal off their fingers and back into the stick for re-use, and the second was to ‘set’ a page when they’d filled it, to prevent smearing)

Most classes weren’t good to draw in; Charms, Potions, and Transfiguration took all his attention; though he was tempted to whip the sketchbook out in Potions and see if Snape would stop ignoring him. Night-time Astronomy was too cold. History was excellent; Binns never paid attention to the students as he lectured, and Harry was slowly building a collection of all his Slytherin yearmates sleeping through the class. Defense Against the Dark Arts took as much concentration as Charms; Lupin frequently brought in strange creatures to learn about first hand. Harry tried to draw them surreptitiously, getting a quick idea of the creatures down at the beginning or end of class.

After a few weeks, Lupin caught him at it.

“Harry, may I see you after class?”

“Ah…” It was lunch next today, not Charms, all right. “Sure, professor.”

The other Slytherins cast him worried looks as they filed out. Harry tried not to fidget too much. Lupin leaned against his desk once everyone was gone, and held out a hand. “May I see that sketchbook please?”

Harry handed it over with a feeling of trepidation. “Sorry, Professor Lupin.”

“Whatever for?” Lupin asked. Harry had left it flipped open to the most recent page, and Lupin was smiling as he examined series of tiny, pencil kappas. “I was worried you weren’t paying attention, but this shows the exact opposite. Do you mind if I ask what this is?”

“That’s, er…” Harry scooted around so he could see the page. Half of it was covered in his drawings from yesterday, and Lupin was pointing at one in the corner. “That’s a grass snake, I was trying to get the shadows on the sunbathing rock, but it got weird.”

“Ah, I see the coils now.” Lupin handed the sketchbook back to Harry. “It would be better if you weren’t switching between open note-taking up top and stealth sketching under your desk, though. The ducking does distract the others a bit.”

“Sorry, professor, I’ll stop,” Harry said, but Lupin waved one hand.

“Not what I meant. You have my permission to draw during my lectures, as long as you take notes on the same page, and you put it away during the practical lessons. Does that sound reasonable?”

Harry nodded, hardly believing his luck. “Thank you, professor!”

~~~

“Harry!” Terence waved from the far end of the Slytherin table, apparently having been watching the door to the Great Hall. “C’mere for a minute.” Over half of the Slytherin fifth-years clustered together, leaning over their dinners to argue. Harry scrambled to sit down next to Terence, across the table from Adrian. Her forehead pressed against Hirohisa Kubo’s as they flung days and times at each other.

“Friday afternoons, before Marcus gets going?”

“That’s open studio time! Saturday.”

“Weekends are unreliable, he likes to mess with Wood. Tuesdays?”

“For Merlin’s sake Adrian, you  _ know _ Tuesdays won’t work!”

“Right, right, sorry.”

“You’re friends with Mr. Hagrid right?” Terence asked, while Harry shoveled chicken and vegetables onto his plate.

“ _ Professor _ Hagrid,” Trupti Kadam corrected from a few seats away. If it  _ was _ a correction. Might’ve been a joke. She had the most deadpan sarcasm of anyone in their house.

“Being a teacher doesn’t make you a professor,” Heather Thatcham snapped, rolling her eyes. Harry wasn’t sure if that meant Trupti had been serious, or if Heather was as bad at reading her as he was.

“How likely is he to keep moping?” Terence pressed on, ignoring the other fifth-years.

“Um…” Harry said.

“We’ll probably need multiple days anyway,” Hirohisa said, suddenly leaning back from the table. Adrian leaned back as well, and ran a hand over her hair. “And we really ought to decide who we’re studying with.”

“If it’s multiple days, why not both houses?” Adrian suggested. The rest of the group chorused their agreement.

“Moping, gonna keep going?” Terence reiterated into the brief lull. “Is it flobberworms all year, or is he going to snap out of this?”

“I…don’t know?” Harry said. He now had the group’s attention, and he realized they must be all the fifth-year Slytherins taking Care of Magical Creatures. “He kept up all the groundskeeping my first year, when he was sad over…um.”

“That mystery pet vanishing?” Gideon Scalby prompted.

“It wasn’t a mystery pet,” Bhupen Shastri said, and poked Gideon in the arm. “It was a fresh-hatched Norwegian Ridgeback. Saw it through the window when Professor Kettleburn sent me for-”

“For  _ whatever _ ,” Trupti said, cutting Bhupen off. “Kettleburn relied on you, we get it.”

“Everyone knew about Norbert?” Harry asked, dismayed.

“Yeah?” Adrian said.

“I bribed Draco over something  _ everyone knew _ ?”

“You needed the practice,” Terence said with a shrug.

“Mr. Hagrid’s not really subtle,” Adrian explained, grinning at Harry’s frustration. “He got all secretive our first year too, and a couple weeks later we see a weird bird heading for the forest after Dumbledore talks to him, and he’s sad for months.”

“ _ Weird bird _ ?” Bhupen said, turning towards her. “ _ Weird bird _ ? If you ever paid attention to Professor Kettleburn’s extra credit, you’d know that was-”

“Merlin’s saggy ballsack, would you shut up about Kettleburn!” Trupti exclaimed. Bhupen glared across the table at her, and Heather stuck her tongue out at him while Trupti kept going. “We get it, he was the best Magical Creatures teacher Hogwarts has ever had, he hung the stars and moon, blah blah blah. If he was so great, why didn’t he bother sticking around to train a replacement, huh? Why’d he skip off on such short notice the Headmaster has to recruit from the  _ support staff _ instead of properly hiring a new professor?”

“Hagrid’s really good with creatures,” Harry interjected.

“But not good with  _ teaching _ ,” Trupti said, ignoring Bhupen’s offended look at her digs at Kettleburn. “He’s picked a great textbook and it sounds like your first lesson was going all right, but none of the rest of us even got a chance to meet the hippogriffs, let alone ride them! It’s just flobberworms, flobberworms, flobberworms. Blugh!”

“Why  _ is _ he so rubbish at teaching now?” Adrian asked curiously. “He’s normally pretty good about explaining stuff, when you ask.”

Terence sighed. “I just asked that, you know.”

“No, you asked how long Hagrid was going to mope,” Harry pointed out.

“Same thing.”

“So, uh,  _ is _ this gonna keep up?” Gideon asked. 

“Yes,” Hirohisa said, before Harry could answer. “It isn’t about being  _ sad _ , it’s about losing  _ confidence _ . A student injured at the first lesson, and the Board of School Governors asked to review the case? He won’t bounce back until they clear him.”

“Which they will,” Heather said, sticking her nose in the air. “And I’ve written Mother saying the tension of indecision is bad for studying. That should help speed things up.”

“Since when does your mother ever listen to you?” Gideon asked. Heather scowled and reached across the table to smack his arm. “Ow! Why is everyone  _ hitting _ me today?”

“Because you never dodge,” Graham said. Mathilda Greenford, the final member of the fifth-year Care of Magical Creatures class, nodded agreement. Gideon pouted at both of them, to Heather’s obvious disgust.

“Moping to continue for an unknown length, then,” Terence said firmly. “All in favor of forming an official OWLS study group?”

Everyone but Graham raised their hands.

“All in favor of including Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or both?”

This time both Graham and Bhupen kept their hands down. “We don’t  _ need _ them, and we’d have to hold it outside the common room.”

“But if Professor Hagrid mentions something to their class and not ours, we’d miss it,” Trupti said. “Same goes for grade levels.”

“We can’t include third, fourth, sixth,  _ and  _ seventh,” Adrian said. “It’d be a nightmare.”

“No, but we can let them know we’d like a word if he  _ does _ move on from flobberworms,” Trupti said.

“You’re in charge of that, then,” Terence said quickly. The arguments about which other houses to study with broke out again; in the end “just Ravenclaw” beat out “Ravenclaw  _ and _ Hufflepuff” by two votes. Graham was the sole vote for “just Hufflepuff” and Harry got the feeling he’d only done it to annoy the others. Heather hurried off to catch the Ravenclaw fifth-years before the swept back up to their tower, and everyone else agreed to get to breakfast early to go over potential times and locations for the study group.

~~~

The oddest thing about taking art class was that it got Harry to actually  _ hang out _ with his housemates, of his own volition, for something other than Quidditch. Previously, Harry had done most of his homework in the library or other remote parts of the castle with Hermione, aside from reading assignments, which he’d curl up in the cozy, deeply recessed windowsills of the Slytherin dungeon to do. He only really ventured into the rest of the common room when Adrian dragged him out for a round of chess.

Professor Laurens encouraged them to do quick figure studies whenever possible, and the sprawl of students in the common room provide ample opportunity. Harry would wander idly until he found an empty chair in view of anything interesting, sit down, and draw. It earned him some puzzled looks at first, and a few orders to buzz off, but after a couple weeks it was accepted as a harmless eccentricity rather than a direct attempt to eavesdrop. Occasionally he’d look up and spot Hirohisa sketching the same subject from another angle.

The entire thing gave Harry a better appreciation for his windowsill retreats; they seemed to be the only part of the common room not subject to territorial disputes. Gobstones players wanted to clear the furniture from a given floor space, so they’d have room to play. Card games took up the bigger tables, but the floor would do in a pinch if someone wanted the big table for homework, and then the card players and gobstones players were at odds. Chess was fine with two chairs and one of the little end tables, but if those were all covered in books or homework or cups of tea…

Consequently, the tables and chairs all moved rather a lot.

Harry’d noticed the furniture rearrangement before, but now the he was in the middle of things he got to see the arguments, hexes, alliances, and other strategies that went with it. Most of the time, the older students got the choicest spots. They got to them first, using longer strides (or in Adrian’s case, occasionally vaulting over chairs). Some made alliances; if there’s someone in your year who’s always fast at dinner, they can save you a useful table until you’re back from Toad Choir practice. Some hexed, or threatened to hex, other Slytherins who took their favorite spot. One sixth-year even cursed the comfiest chair so it screamed obscenities if any butt but theirs sat in it (Gemma undid that one and jinxed the culprit; we don’t need the  _ furniture _ teaching the firsties foul language, you complete idiot). Marcus Flint simply used his massive bulk and perpetual scowl to intimidate people out of the chair near the fire he favored.

The youngest habitual victors, though, were Pansy Parkinson’s court, which Harry had  _ not _ paid much attention to before. It seemed that outside of classes, she was surrounded by a flock of giggling first and second-year girls.

“Oh, she only started it last year,” Daphne explained, when Harry mentioned it. “Got all the first-years back then looking up to her and Tracey, but they messed up after Granger got petrified. Tried to say there was nothing to worry about since ‘the Heir  _ likes _ purebloods, we’re all fine’ and now half of them won’t talk to her.”

Harry looked over at the group; Pansy and Tracey sat in low-backed squishy armchairs near the fire but angled away from it, a couple second-year girls were in nearby chairs, and nearly  _ all _ of the new first-year girls were spread out around them, doing homework or playing cards or braiding each other’s hair. Draco and Blaise were both sitting close by, but not actually  _ in _ the group.

“Isn’t Pansy sort of…mean?” Harry asked.

“That just makes them want to impress her more,” Daphne said.

Barely anyone had batted an eye the first evening the group took over their (now regular) spot by the fire. There was still room for the few seventh-years that  _ really _ wanted it, and the sixth-years thought it was funny. Cute, even.

“Like a miniature queen,” Harry heard Mildred Peebles tell her fellow sixth-year Peregrine Derrick, from where he was sitting nearby, sketching Theodore’s look of intense concentration as he played a game of solitaire. “With all her miniature ladies-in-waiting.”

“And  _ not _ so miniature,” Peregrine snickered, pretending to rub his nose so he could point subtly at Millicent Bulstrode, who had joined the group that night to do her Charms homework with Tracey. Mildred smacked Peregrine on the arm and huffed off to chat with someone else.

It was considered far less cute the second night. Grant Sparkford, wanting to sit down and play a round of chess with Gemma, tried to tell the first-year closest to Pansy to give up the little end table she had piled her textbooks on. The entire group turned to him, wide-eyed, and the girl in question (either Ella or Imogen, Harry always got them mixed up) squeaked out that she  _ needed _ the table.

“I can’t put Monsty on the  _ floor! _ ” she said, indicating the furry  _ Monster Book of Monsters _ at the bottom of the pile. Imogen, then. “It doesn’t like the cold. It  _ shivers _ .”

“Er,” Grant said, taken aback that he was not just being  _ handed _ the table. “Can’t you…put it on top of the other books?”

“But what if we wind up using all of them?” Imogen asked, eyes widening even  _ more _ . Pansy smirked at Grant and took  _ Magical Draughts and Potions _ from the middle of the pile, and passed it down the group until it reached a gangly first-year girl trying to finish her Potions worksheet.

Grant said “Er,” again, and fled. He wound up yanking a footstool out from under Adrian’s heels (she woke from her nap with a snort, raised her brows briefly at Grant, and went back to sleep) and transfiguring the legs to make it taller. Gemma set her chess board atop it and sent Pansy’s group a thoughtful look.

The third night was not cute at all, but, Terence would say later, it  _ was _ pretty funny.

“Look,” Peregrine said, hands on his hips. “Parkinson. Shove off, will you?”

“ _ Excuse  _ me?” Pansy said, voice going loud and shrill in a way that made all the third-years, mostly scattered around the common room, wince from experience. “ _ What _ did you just say to me?”

“I told you to shove off,” Peregrine said. “It’s Friday, Cassius is off getting butterbeers, and I said I’d get us seats near the fire.”

“We were here first,” Pansy said haughtily. It was true. Second-year Amy Frome had come back from dinner early and sat in Pansy’s new favorite chair, legs stretched over the side to put her feet in another one nearby until the queen bee herself arrived. “You can drink butterbeer anywhere.”

“But we  _ want _ to drink it  _ here _ ,” Peregrine insisted. He drew his wand, a dangerous but not unusual move in the territory fights; often the mere act of drawing would make the third-years and below give up. “What do you even need this spot for?”

“Practice. Girls,” Pansy said, turning away from Peregrine. They’d been watching since the first words were exchanged, but pretended they hadn’t.  Small heads glanced up from textbooks and worksheets, or turned away from braiding a friends’ hair. Nerissa and Scarlett carefully capped their bottles of nailpolish. “Derrick wants to know what we’re doing here. Today was  _ Charms _ homework, wasn’t it?”

“Oh, you’re  _ never _ a study group-” Peregrine started to say. A flurry of fabric interrupted him as the entire group drew their wands, and a dozen high young voices yelled “ _ Wingardium leviosa! _ ”

The effect was rather spectacular. They didn’t all have the wand motion perfect, or the incantation just so, and they certainly weren’t synchronized. They didn’t have the control to pick him up properly, though if they  _ had _ been synchronized they certainly would have had the strength to. Instead of rising gently into the air like the feathers used for practice, Peregrine flew ungracefully across the room as though backhanded by a troll, ankles smacking several other students in the head. He landed, swearing loudly, on Cassius Warrington, who had just come out of the dorm tunnels with four bottles of butterbeer in his hands.

“Good  _ job _ ,” Pansy cooed at her court. They preened and giggled. Everyone else in the common room burst out laughing. Agnes Monkleigh, sitting in the same windowsill as Theodore and Leofflaed, nose buried in  _ One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _ , jammed her fingers in her ears until the laughter died down. Graham helped Peregrine and Cassius to their feet, and nicked one of their butterbeers.

That had been over a week ago. Now Harry frowned down at his sketchbook, tapping the end of his pencil against it. Pansy’s voice carried over from the fireplace, telling Imogen that pigtails didn’t suit her, and to let Ella restyle her hair.

“Why do they even  _ want _ to impress her in the first place?” Harry finally asked.

Daphne hummed thoughtfully, and stared off into the distance. After a long moment of contemplation, during which Harry jotted down her profile, Daphne’s only answer was an emphatic shrug.

~~~

One morning as September was drawing to a close, Hedwig soared into the Great Hall, a small package clutched in her talons. She swerved towards the Gryffindor table rather than Slytherin, and dropped the package into Hermione’s outstretched hands. Harry watched hopefully from across the Great Hall as Hermione delicately undid the brown paper. She flashed him a thumbs-up, and Harry jerked his head towards the door.

“You smuggling contraband, now?” Terence asked, having watched this exchange sleepily while eating his toast and sausage links.

“Something like that,” Harry said. He slipped out of the Great Hall ahead of the crowd and met Hermione in the shadow alcove made by a pillar in the entrance hall. “They got the neon ones this time, right?”

“Mm-hm,” Hermione said. “I was very clear. They sent your change back, too.” She handed over the package along with a few coins, and Harry took a quick look inside before stowing it in his bookbag.

“You’re the best,” Harry said happily. “I owe you one.”

“You really don’t,” Hermione said, shaking her head. “You already let me use Hedwig when I write my parents.”

That afternoon, Harry snuck through the castle until he found the tower that held Muggle Studies. When he set foot on the landing, though, a suit of armor stepped out of its niche and barred the way with a halberd.

“Um.” This was unexpected. Harry had never seen one of the suits of armor move from their niches before, though sometimes the empty helms would laugh. “May I get by, please?”

No response. Harry took a step forward. The armor tilted the halberd up briefly, then smacked it back down against its metal gauntlet.

“Fantastic.” Harry took a few steps back. The suit of armor remained in the middle of the landing, halberd angled to block any way past. Harry sighed. At least he didn’t have any more classes today. Harry settled down on the floor, pulled out his sketchbook, and began drawing.

Thankfully he didn’t have long to wait; it was only a few minutes until the end of the fifth-years’ Muggle Studies class. He stowed his sketchbook, now containing a nice study of the armor’s helm, and scrambled to his feet as the gaggle of students came down the stairs. Their robes were trimmed in red, yellow, and blue; Adrian was the only one wearing green.

“Oy, who riled the Tinman?” one of the Ravenclaws said, noticing the suit of armor blocking the landing. She tapped it on the shoulder. “It’s all right, we’re all done for the day.” The armor didn’t move, and the Ravenclaw finally noticed Harry standing there. “Come on, Tinman, it’s just a firstie.”

“I’m a third-year!” Harry said, and Adrian elbowed her way to the front. She leaned over one end of the halberd.

“What’re you doing here, halfpint?”

“Bringing your birthday present,” Harry said. “But…” he waved at the armor.

“Go on down the hall,” Adrian said, as the other Muggle Studies students grumbled at the delay. “Tinman won’t back down until you’re out of sight, or you give the password.” Harry obligingly walked away, ducking into a broom closet halfway down the hall. Momentarily the Gryffindors, Hufflepuffs, and Ravenclaws walked past, leaving Adrian to wave Harry back out. A glance over his shoulder showed the suit of armor standing back into its niche.

“What’s this about a birthday present?” Adrian asked, strolling along well behind the other students.

“Here,” Harry said, digging out the package. Adrian paused to open it, and her face lit up when she saw the contents; an entire box of Muggle bandaids, all of them in bright neon colors; blue, green, pink, and orange.

“These are amazing!” She pulled one out, ripping a corner of the paper to reveal the eye-searing pink shade inside. “Brighter than anything!”

“Hermione helped me get them,” Harry said. “I meant to this summer, but Aunt Petunia didn’t want me coming along to the supermarket.”

“You’ve been planning this since summer?” Adrian asked in surprise. She took one last admiring look at the pink bandaid, before sliding it back into the box and shoving the whole thing into her bookbag.

“Well, yeah,” Harry said, shaking his head at her. “You sent me a hat, remember?” He decided not to mention he’d actually been planning it since seeing the green bandaid stuck surreptitiously in her old notebook, a souvenir of their disastrous attempt to board the Hogwarts Express last fall. “It actually took us a couple letters to get them; the Grangers were worried we actually  _ needed _ them and sent a first-aid kit, despite everything Hermione’s told them about Pomfrey.”

~~~

As autumn meandered sedately towards winter, frequent rainstorms kept most students indoors when not forced outside by class or clubs. Hagrid dug out large, creaky black umbrellas from a storage closet to get the Care of Magical Creatures class through their rounds of stuffing lettuce into the flobberworms. Harry shared one with Hermione, who spent most of class grumbling about Divination.

“And now they think Trelawney predicted Binky’s death!” Hermione said, holding up the umbrella so Harry could examine their tank of flobberworms for fungus. “Honestly, who dreads their baby rabbit dying?”

“Well, has Brown had one die before?” Harry asked. Specimen B was fungus-free, and Harry dutifully noted that down on his chart. He picked up another flobberworm.

“I…don’t know,” Hermione said. She frowned. “Binky was eaten by a fox, is that really…?”

“Dunno,” Harry said. “All the foxes in Privet Drive are smart enough to stay out of sight, and no one’s got rabbits. I think Mrs. Figg’s cats would kill them.”

“Oh, not you too!” The umbrella shook violently, splattering the muddy ground with more rainwater.

“Er, sorry?”

“Ron is  _ convinced _ Crookshanks has it out for Scabbers!” Hermione said. At the other end of the row of flobberworm tanks, Ron was holding an umbrella resembling swiss cheese up over Longbottom, who examined the flobberworms carefully. “He says the stress is killing him.”

“Leofflaed and Snapdragon get along fine,” Harry said. Then again, whenever Snapdragon looked a little  _ too _ interested in Theodore’s rat, Millicent would gently place on large hand on the cat’s head and say  _ “no”. _ He tried to imagine Hermione doing that with Crookshanks, and couldn’t. “Has Weasley tried leaving Scabbers in his dorm, instead of having a pocket that reeks of rat?”

“There isn’t really a way to keep other familiars  _ out _ of people’s dorms,” Hermione said. “I’ve asked Crookshanks to leave Scabbers alone, but he’s a cat! They chase rats! It’d be like asking Hedwig not to hunt mice.”

Harry winced, and started shredding a head of lettuce.

Leofflaed and Snapdragon resolutely demonstrated their ability to ignore one another during a round of Exploding Snap in the common room that evening, when Millicent roped Theodore, Daphne, and Blaise into the game. Harry sat at the next table over, drawing the card players. Professor Laurens said they were going to start on color pencils next week, and Harry thought it would be fun to contrast the main body of the game with the bright flashes of orange when the cards went off.

A sudden movement caught Harry’s attention, and he glanced towards the recessed windowsills. Agnes sat in her usual one, Potions textbook propped up on her knees, but was glaring up from it at Horatio Pershore. He leaned against the wall next to the window to talk to her, idly twirling his wand in one hand.

_ Bang! _

The Exploding Snap cards, well, exploded. Leoflaed dove into Theodore’s robe, Snapdragon’s tail turned into a bottlebrush, and over at the window, Agnes jumped. Harry frowned, watching Horatio laugh at the startled first-year. He stuffed his sketchbook under his arm and walked over, while Millicent scraped the ashes and scraps of paper back into the card case so the deck could reform for another round.

“Hello, Agnes,” Harry said. She relaxed her white-knuckled grip on her book and nodded to him.

Horatio cleared his throat.

“Oh, sorry Pershore, didn’t see you there,” Harry said. “Anyway, Agnes, do you play chess?”

“No?” Agnes’ face scrunched up. “Why?”

“ _ You’re  _ not teaching her,” Horatio said, crossing his arms and glaring at Harry. “This kid aced McGonagall’s mid-term practical test, she’s going places. Doesn’t need a good-for-nothing like you dragging her down.”

“Nobody asked you, Horatio,” Agnes said. She turned back to Harry. “I don’t have a set like everyone else.”

“No worries,” Harry said. “Just follow me.” He led her towards a cluster of chairs near the fire, on the opposite side from Pansy’s court, leaving Horatio sputtering. Terence sat in a pine-needle green armchair, taking notes on his Ancient Runes reading. Adrian napped in a darker green, much squashier chair, legs draped over one side, clutching  _ The Monster Book of Monsters _ to her chest like a teddy-bear. “Hey, Terence?”

Terence looked up from his book, spotted Agnes, and raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“If I loan her my set, can you teach Agnes chess?”

“Sure,” Terence said. “I could use a break from antiquated writing systems.” He stood up, stretched, and then gestured for Agnes to take his chair. “Don’t let anyone kick you out of that, all right? Pain in the neck to get seats near the fire.” His eyes flicked towards Pansy. “Especially lately.”

Terence ambled off to get his chess set. Harry retrieved his at a quicker pace, and came back to find Adrian rubbing her eyes and staring blearily at Agnes, who stared back owlishly.

“Did the Weasley twins slip you another Shrinking Potion?” Adrian asked sleepily.

“No?”

“That’s not Terence,” Harry said, dragging over a small end table to the armchairs.

“Oh.” Adrian yawned, and shook her head rapidly before peering at Agnes again. “You’re right. It’s a firstie. What’s a firstie doing in Terence’s chair?”

“Saving it,” Terence said, reappearing with a chess board and velvet-lined leather sack holding his set tucked under his arm.

“The Weasleys’ve shrunk you?” Harry asked curiously, as Terence had dragged one of the spindly wooden chairs that nobody ever tried to dibs over to their spot. Harry kept half an eye on Horatio, who’d sulkily shuffled off to chat with some other second-years. He  _ probably _ wouldn’t bother Agnes again today, not while a prefect was teaching her chess.

“Our third year,” Terence said. “Potions class. ‘Tripped’ and splashed me right in the mouth with some.”  He shuddered. “I’m just glad they’d tested it first.”

“Shrunk beetles down into larvae, right?” Adrian said. “Did Professer Snape give everyone beetles for testing, or did they find ‘em somewhere?”

“He was saving them for the next week,” Terence said. He looked down at Agnes, who was watching Harry get the chess pieces set up. “Professor Snape won’t mention it ‘cause he likes to keep everyone on their toes, but he keeps antidotes to each week’s lesson up behind his desk. So if you’ve got troublemakers in your lab, and they mess with you, don’t  _ panic _ .”

Agnes blinked at him. “Did you panic?”

“No,” Terence said.

“Yes,” Adrian said, grinning. “Screamed so loud a beaker broke.”

“It did  _ not _ .”

“It  _ did _ .”

“That’s because Olivia knocked it over.”

“Yeah, because you  _ startled _ her by  _ screaming _ .”


	7. Time Ain't For Savin'

Art, Harry decided, was like flying. Now that he’d started, he never wanted to stop. He spent Friday afternoons in Professor Laurens’ light, airy classroom, filling huge sheets of cheap newspaper with charcoal sketches of whatever was nearby; cans full of paintbrushes, the back of a fifth-year engrossed in their own canvas, the swath of Hogwarts grounds seen through the windows. He spent Friday evenings in the library with Hermione and Daphne, carefully adding illustrations to his essays that didn’t already call for diagrams. He bolted through lunch on Mondays to get to Art class early. Despite the ample smocks provided by Professor Laurens, Harry was rapidly acquiring paint stains on all of his robes.

“Didn’t your primary school have art?” Hermione asked, when Harry stuffed his Charms textbook into his bag and pulled out the now ubiquitous sketchbook, and a pack of color pencils. He flipped to the graphite-pencil drawing he’d made of the bookshelves visible from their regular table last week, and started filling in the spines with bright colors.

“Yes,” Harry said.

“Then why weren’t you like this our first two years?” Hermione asked, radiating curiosity. Harry shrugged. The truth was that while Dudley’s crayon drawings had been proudly taped to the fridge until, at age eight, he decided he was too old to bring art home from school anymore, Harry’s had been dropped in the rubbish bin. “Where they belong,” Vernon would add. It didn’t help that art time was cut shorter and shorter in class each grade, and when they  _ did _ have it Dudley took vindictive delight in “accidentally” ripping Harry’s paper the moment he finished. Or worse, ripping his own and faking tears while running to tell the teacher that “Harry ruined it!”

Harry wondered what he’d do if anyone tried that at Hogwarts.

_ Hex them _ .

“Some things are just different at Hogwarts,” Daphne said sagely.

“Like the food.” The three of them blinked up at Terence, standing casually at the end of their table. He fidgeted with his prefect’s badge. “Way worse here.”

Daphne frowned. “The food’s amazing.”

“Mm,” Terence said. He stopped fidgeting with the badge, and Harry realized his arm had been blocking Agnes from view. Her eyes widened at the sight of Hermione and Daphne sitting amiably next to each other. “You’re all here a lot, right?”

“Why?” Hermione asked suspiciously. “You’re not running away from another prank, are you?”

“Not today,” Terence said. He elbowed Agnes, much more gently than he would have Harry or Adrian. “I’m looking for first-year study groups. You seen any?”

Hermione frowned, trying to think of any, but her focus was usually on their own group. Daphne looked around, trying to spot some. Harry simply pointed to the next table over, where Colin Creevey regularly set up with other Ravenclaws. The times Hermione hadn’t gotten the  _ good _ table, Colin’s group had taken whichever was closest to Harry’s, regardless of its lighting quality or nearness to relevant books. Terence glanced over, and raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t Creevey a second-year?”

Colin noticed Harry pointing at him, and waved. “He’s repeating first year,” Harry told Terence quietly, waving back. “Heard them talking about class sometimes, it’s  _ definitely _ first year stuff.”

“Excellent,” Terence said, nodding. He put a hand on Agnes’ back and pushed her towards the Ravenclaws. “I  _ know _ they’re too loud in Herbology,” he murmured, when Agnes hesitated. “But Madam Pince keeps them in line here. Don’t worry.” He watched to make sure she actually sat down with them (Colin scooted his chair over to make room) and nodded to Harry. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

~~~

Cousin Brianna was not the only relative to write Adrian about freeing Dobby, though she was the most disapproving. A letter a week fluttered down next to Adrian’s regular Daily Prophet, thankfully none of them Howlers. Most started off with admonishments for “interfering in someone’s household” and either went on to explain why this was poor manners, or to congratulate Adrian for tricking a man of Lucius Malfoy’s age and cunning. All of them ended with cautions to keep her head down.

Every third one or so came wrapped around a book. Aunt Aileen sent a volume of Robert Service poetry (“I cannae tell if he was a wizard or no,” the accompanying letter said. “American poets are a mite strange.”) while Cousin Eric sent William McGonagall’s _Yet More_ _Poetic Gems_ (“I hope this dreadful verse pains you as news of your escapade pained me.”) and midway through October two owls had to be nursed back to health by Hagrid after delivering a massive tomb all the way from Versailles. 

“Cousin Eunice is in the ‘disapproving’ camp,” Adrian said glumly.

“More or less than your cousin Eric was?” Terence asked.

“Same, but she thinks I’m rude, he thinks I’m reckless.” Adrian tilted the book upwards to display the title:  _ The Collected Craft of Courtesy. _ An embossed silhouette of a teacup, with a wand instead of a spoon placed on the saucer, graced the cover.

Heather gasped. “Is that a fifth edition Sophia de Portia?”

Adrian flipped to the title page. “Uh, yeah. You know her?”

“My mother  _ worships _ her,” Heather said. “She’s been running in Witch Weekly for decades! Oh, you don’t  _ want _ it, do you Adrian? It would be  _ perfect _ for her birthday.”

“All yours.”

So when an owl coasted along the Slytherin breakfast table nearly a week before Halloween, just behind one of the Prophet’s avian couriers, Adrian’s yearmates turned expectantly towards her. Today, however, the owl went right past, clipped Harry in the nose with its wing, and dropped a sealed roll of parchment in Daphne’s hand, hastily extended to protect her porridge.

“But they just wrote yesterday…” Daphne’s brows knit together as she examined the seal.

“Your parents?” Harry asked. The Greengrasses expected regular updates from Daphne about her classes, and had sent a congratulatory letter along with her allowance after she aced their latest potions test.

“Mm,” Daphne said, and unrolled the letter. Her brows unknit, rose, and then snapped down in scowl within the span of a few seconds. “ _ Astoria!” _

“…hm?” one of the first-years sitting near Pansy looked up.

“You told them about my study group!”

Astoria scowled back. Oh, right. Sisters. Harry kept forgetting, since Astoria hung out with Pansy’s crowd rather than Daphne. “You didn’t say it was a secret!”

“I  _ told _ you,” Daphne said. “Not to tell them who I spend time with!”

“I didn’t think it was a big deal,” Astoria insisted. “And anyway, they  _ asked _ me if you were making good connections, and you’re always off studying with Potter, and  _ he’s _ always off with that Gryffindor! What was I supposed to say, that you’re not making  _ any _ connections?”

“You’re supposed to ignore the question, and let me handle it during the holidays,” Daphne snapped. “They’re asking  _ me _ if you’re  _ behaving- _ ”

“And I am!”

“For  _ now _ ,” Daphne said. Astoria huffed and turned away. Daphne scowled back down at the letter, and then passed it to Harry. “Look at this!”

It took a moment to decipher the light, looping handwriting, but once he did Harry saw why Daphne was so annoyed; her parents disapproved of Muggle-borns, and Gryffindors, and Hermione was both. The letter even said they’d considered telling Daphne off with a Howler, but didn’t want to “ruin her reputation” on the chance that she’d been  _ discreet _ about her study partner’s identity and the rest of the school didn’t know already. And that Harry’s own presence was the study group’s saving grace.

_ We understand _ , the letter ended,  _ that sometimes you must tolerate lesser company to gain acceptance from people who are Going Places. Of course, if Mr. Potter ends this poorly-conceived acquaintanceship, you will find more suitable students to study with at once. Perhaps a Ravenclaw of good family. _

“Can you believe this rubbish?” Daphne said, once Harry handed it back. “I’m not studying with Granger because of  _ you! _ I’m studying with Granger because she’s the best in our year! ” She angrily rolled the letter back up and stuffed it down her sleeve. “Slytherin is supposed to be the best, isn’t it? How am I going to become that if I refuse help from people just because their family is different from mine?”

~~~

That afternoon, Harry walked into the locker room after Quidditch practice, and straight into Terence’s back.

“ _ Ow _ .” Harry rubbed at his nose. “Why’d you-”

Terence stepped aside, and Harry saw what he and everyone else was staring at; all their school robes, hanging on hooks over the team charter while they practiced, were bleached grey. A large bottle of black liquid with a note tied to it sat innocently on the bench.

“What’s it say, captain?” Lucian asked nervously.

Marcus cautiously poked the note, then untied it to read aloud. “ ‘Have fun fixing this, assholes.’ ” Glowering, he picked the bottle up. “Label says it’s dye.”

“Lemme see, captain,” Terence said. He’d already unlaced his armguards as they walked off the pitch, and tugged his sleeves out of them. Now he slid his wand free and tapped the bottle, murmuring a spell. Nothing happened. He murmured something else, and a thumb-sized cloud of blue smoke puffed out. Terence nodded. “It really is dye. They copied us.”

“What’s dye?” Draco asked from just outside the door. “Who copied what?” Like every practice that fall, Draco had been put in charge of the equipment box, and talked Vincent and Gregory into carrying it on and off the pitch for him. His own school robe was completely untouched, as he’d worn it through practice, Quidditch gear still stuffed in his locker.

Terence ignored Draco’s queries, quickly dumping the dye into the nearest sink and filling it halfway with water, and muttering to himself. “Need a heat source…”

“Got it,” Harry said. He summoned Bluebell Flames to sit on the curve of the pipe right under the sink’s basin.

“Thanks,” Terence said, and gestured for everyone to bring him their robes.

“This better work, Higgs,” Marcus said, as Terence dunked in the first one. “If those twerps get us written up for dress code violation-”

“It’ll work,” Terence said. He stirred the sink’s contents with his wand, murmuring yet another spell. A hideous waft of rotten eggs rose up. Everyone else took a step back, pinching their noses. Terence simply nodded again. “See? Working.”

Not needing to shower, Draco nudged Vincent and Gregory to put the equipment box away and hurry back outside, away from the smell. They’d all been lingering after practice, preferring to walk up to the castle with the rest of the team; Harry suspected knowing there were dementors just outside the grounds made them nervous.

“Where’d you learn that?” Lucian asked Harry, impressed by how he was keeping the blue flames carefully going on the pipe, neither going out despite the lack of fuel, nor spreading. “I can’t remember Flitwick doing anything like that.”

“Hermione taught me,” Harry explained. “Our Charms text mentioned it as a variation on something else, and she figured out how to cast it our first year.”

“Ugh,” Graham said, nose wrinkling. “It’s not going to scum up the pipes, is it?”

Harry spun around angrily, but before he could say anything, Terence flung a sopping wet robe at Graham’s face. “Yours is done!”

By the time the team was cleaned up, Terence had not only re-dyed all of their robes, but magically dried most of them as well. Terence skipped the showers, scrubbing the remains of dye from the sink instead. “I  _ think _ the smell’ll wear off with some fresh air,” he muttered, sitting next to Harry on the bench as they pulled their shoes on. The stench of rotten eggs was still clinging to their robes. “Did last time.”

“I can’t believe they  _ copied _ us,” Lucian said, toweling his hair. “Wouldn’t stuffing our equipment box full of fireworks be more their thing?”

“Probably couldn’t make fireworks smell bad enough,” Marcus grumbled.

“I can’t believe they got  _ in _ here,” Lucian said.

“You know what  _ I _ can’t believe?” Graham said, pulling his damp robe back on over his head. He’d had to dry it himself, and hadn’t done as good a job as Terence. “That fucking Pucey lucks out and misses this shit.”

“What d’you mean?” Harry asked, doing up his laces. Terence froze.

“All her stuff’s back in the dorm, right?” Graham said, thumping down on the bench with his own shoes. “So they can’t prank her with the rest of us.”

“Oh, _ bugger _ ,” Terence whispered hoarsely, and sprinted from the locker room. Everyone else exchanged a puzzled look, and then the penny dropped; if Adrian couldn’t be pranked along with everyone else, it meant she’d be pranked  _ alone _ . Harry tore out of the locker room and bolted towards the castle. Surely the Gryffindors would only have tried to bleach her robes, too? Just straightforward vengeance for bleaching  _ theirs _ , right? But the Weasley twins tended to get creative . . .

Harry’s feet pounded over one of the small wooden bridges connecting the field with the Quidditch pitch to the rest of the Hogwarts grounds, otherwise separated by a stream that looped around the castle and fed into the lake. Off the bridge, Harry promptly tripped over Terence and went sprawling across the grass. Terence was on his knees, howling with laughter. 

“Real bloody helpful, mate,” a high voice called from above. It sounded young enough to be one of the first-years, though not any Harry recognized. He looked up, and saw a tiny figure stuck up in the topmost branches of a nearby oak tree, no more than four yards from the bridge. They wore an oversized green Quidditch robe.

“Are you lot going to help me down or not?” the tiny figure yelled, as Harry pushed himself back up. A roar of mirth drowned out the last few words; everyone else had arrived. Marcus doubled over, barely keeping upright by grabbing his knees, Lucian pounding on his back because laughter wasn’t enough. Graham had to sling his arms around Vincent and Gregory’s necks to keep from falling down, all three of their heads thrown back to roar with laughter. Draco was slim mirror of Lucian, smacking his hand against Vincent’s shoulder instead of the captain.

Harry peered up into the tree, trying to get a good look at the kid’s face between the stubborn leaves still hanging on, despite all autumn winds. Was that really…?

“Just climb!” Marcus yelled back, between guffaws.

“I bloody well  _ would  _ if I fucking  _ could! _ ”

Yeah, that was Adrian. She thrashed violently, demonstrating how the sleeves and now too-long hem of her Quidditch robes were hopelessly tangled in the branches. A few twigs and leaves pattered down onto the grass. Terence laughed harder, wrapping his arms around his stomach, tears streaming down his face.

“I didn’t laugh that much when they got  _ you! _ ” Adrian shouted. She stilled thoughtfully. “All right, maybe I did, but I got you the antidote!”

“Come on,” Draco said, pulling himself together. “Let’s go, come on.” Vincent and Gregory followed him up to the castle, glancing over their shoulders. Marcus left too, shaking his head. Harry rolled up his sleeves and hauled himself up into the oak tree, ignoring Lucian and Graham’s unhelpful commentary.

“Thanks,” Adrian said quietly, when Harry reached her and began the slow process of convincing fabric and branches to let go of each other.

“How’d they get you?” Terence called up, taking deep breaths and wiping at his eyes while they climbed down. “Jelly donut? Cauldron cake?”

“Whistled so I’d look up and dropped a water balloon on my face,” Adrian said, letting go of a branch to drop the last few feet to the ground after Harry. Feet firmly planted on the ground, Adrian looked even  _ younger _ than the first-years, nearly a head shorter than Harry and face round with baby fat. She still looked like she was made more out of limbs than anything else, though.

“How’d they get you up the tree, small fry?” Harry asked, grinning at her.

“Oh no,” Adrian said. She shoved the armguards up past her elbows and rolled her sleeves up over them. “No fucking way.  _ I’m _ tall.  _ You’re _ short.”

“You look pretty short to me, pipsqueak,” Harry said. Graham and Lucian nodded in agreement, and Adrian shot them a dirty look.

“This is  _ temporary _ ,” she said. She sat down to roll up the ends of the heavy leggings she wore under her Quidditch robes, and gathered the extra fabric of the robes to bunch around her waist as she stood back up. “Did any of you see my damn shoes around here?”

“Got ‘em,” Terence said, waving the beat up boots of thin brown leather she wore for Quidditch practice over his head. “Your socks are inside.”

“Oh good,” Adrian said. She started walking back towards the castle, and tossed the answer to Harry’s question over her shoulder. “They were on brooms. Half the Gryffindor team keeps theirs in their dorms instead of the shed.”

By the time they reached the castle, Adrian’s bare feet were coated with cold mud and blades of wet grass. She stared dubiously up at the stone steps leading to the entrance hall for a long moment, then set down and started rubbing the muck off her feet with one long unrolled sleeve.

“Just track it in, Adrian, the castle’s had worse,” Graham said, paused a few steps further up.

“No fucking way,” Adrian muttered. “Filch probably already tore into Marcus for bringing that stench in. And I’m  _ not _ losing my skin on that nightmare he calls a welcome mat.” She shook her sleeve vigorously, splattering Terence and Lucian with mud (Harry had seen it coming and ducked behind them), rolled it up, and unrolled the clean sleeve to get the last bits off. Graham rolled his eyes and continued up the steps, and after patting Adrian on the shoulder, Lucian followed.

“Right,” Adrian said, once she was done. “Let’s go see Professor Snape about the antidote.”

“I’d better stay out here until the smell’s gone,” Harry said. The odor of rotten eggs was much weaker now, but he didn’t want even a whiff of it for Filch to pounce on. “Invisibility might be catching anyway.” He wouldn’t want Adrian to be stuck like this just because Snape refused to look at him.

“What’s that mean?” Terence asked, but Harry had already darted back across the lawn to get air moving through the robes. He wound up running into Hagrid and Fang, and Hagrid walked him right back up to the castle.

“Yer not supposed to be out on yer own!”

“But it’s not even curfew!”

“Still getting dark out,” Hagrid said. He made sure Harry got into the entrance hall before continuing with his groundskeeping rounds. Harry sniffed at his sleeve. He could still smell sulfur, but now it was overwhelmed by the smell of Fang’s wet fur. Harry sighed at trotted down the dungeon stairs, making his way through the twisting passaged to Slytherin.

“Ready?”

“Nope. Drop me anyway.”

Startled and confused, Harry stopped at the end of the hallway. Terence stood just outside the hidden stone door to the Slytherin common room, Adrian’s boots clutched in one hand, Adrian herself clinging to him piggy-back style, still barely more than four feet tall. Terence let go of her legs and Adrian let go of his neck at the same instance, so she landed bare-feet-first on the stone floor. She flinched.

“ _ Damn _ that’s cold.”

“Was Snape not there?” Harry blurted out, making both of them jump. Terence had to grab Adrian’s shoulder to keep her from tripping on the long hem of her Quidditch robe.

“He was there,” Adrian said, hastily gathering up the treacherous fabric once more.

Terence pointed at him. “You didn’t see that.”

“See what?” Harry said.

“Good.” Terence gave the password, and Harry hurried to follow the Chasers through the archway before the stone door could slide shut again. Several people glanced over as they walked through, then did double-takes, then started nudging the people around them. Adrian determinedly marched around armchairs, no few of them taller than her, towards a group of fifth-year girls quizzing each other on Charms. Terence trailed in her wake, snickering as people’s jaws dropped.

“Why’re you still all tiny?” Graham asked, just as Yurika Haneda, one of the few fifth-years  _ not _ taking Care of Magical Creatures, realized it wasn’t a firstie tugging at her elbow.

“Little help, here?” Adrian asked Yurika. Across the table from them, Mathilda Greenford clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes widening in delight, and Heather Thatcham dropped her Charms flashcards. Adrian turned back to Graham as Yurika stood up. She shuffled from foot to foot; the floor here was warmer than the hallway, but it was still  _ stone _ , and none of the few rugs scattered throughout the common room were in this particular section.

“Professor Snape says  _ I _ have to brew it,” Adrian told Graham. “He’s letting me use class time to do it, so I don’t poison myself from impatience.”

“What’s that mean?” Cassius Warrington yelled from over near the fire. Anyone who’d been pretending not to pay attention took this is a signal to give up, and peered expectantly at Adrian. She ignored them to follow Yurika towards the girls’ half of the dorms.

“Means she could just wait for it to wear off,” Terence explained.

“Would that take a while?” Harry asked him in concern. He didn’t need to be in class with them to know Potions wasn’t Adrian’s best subject, or even one of her middling ones. The creativity of her foul language when Terence dragged out their homework was testament enough.

“About a week,” Terence said. He snickered at Harry’s look of alarm.

“I can’t believe Snape didn’t have the antidote,” Lucian said.

“Is there anything you  _ do _ believe?” Harry muttered, turning Terence’s snickering into full-blown laughter again. Thankfully, Lucian hadn’t heard.

“oh, he- ah hahahaha-” Terence took a deep breath. “He has it! Won’t give it to us without names.”

“He wanted you to snitch?” Graham asked, eyes going wide.

Draco sneered at him. “Reporting vandalism and arboreal assault isn’t  _ snitching _ .”

“Did you just call chucking someone in a tree ‘arboreal assault’?” Terence wheezed out. Draco flushed and stuck his nose higher in the air. Terence took another deep breath, shaking his head. “Not like they ever told McGonagall on  _ us _ .”

Yurika appeared a few minutes later, snatched the boots from Terence’s hands and hauled Mathilda and Heather back to the dorms with her. They re-emerged with Adrian shortly before dinner.

“Behold,” Yurika said solemnly, corner of her lips twitching. “Our masterpiece.” Mathilda smiled like Christmas had come early, and Heather buffed her nails on her shoulder.

They’d replaced the Quidditch robe with Adrian’s regular, every-day uniform, and used silver thread to stitch the rolled-up sleeves in place above her elbows. The long hem was hiked up to her armpits, secured by an enormous, dark green, velvet ribbon tied in a bow in the back. Adrian had stuck her wand through the ribbon, reminiscent of a pirate keeping a dagger in their sash. A second bow, half as large as the first, was tied around her head.

Terence fell into the nearest chair, dignity he’d scraped back together in the interim flying out the window once more. Adrian walked over, bows wobbling with each step, waited patiently for a pause in the laughter, and patted his knee. “If you ask nice enough, they’ll give you a bow too.” Terence choked.

“You could’ve just borrowed a firstie’s robe,” Grant Sparkford pointed out.

Heather gave him a look of disgust. “And trust that those miscreants brewed things  _ right _ ? This could wear off at any time!”

“And I’d rather take the antidote  _ in _ class,” Adrian added. “Professor Snape’s got some bezoars in the cupboard if I mess up too bad.” Harry let out a sigh of relief, and Adrian absently patted his arm. She paused mid-pat, frowned, climbed up onto the chair next to Terence’s, and ruffled Harry’s hair. “That’s better.”

“So, what, this all comes apart then?” Grant asked, starting to reach for the ends of the larger bow. Adrian smacked his hand. He jerked back. “Sorry, Pucey. Hey! They fixed your shoes!”

“Yep.” Adrian stuck one foot out from under her altered robes, showing that the brown leather boots were shrunk to fit. “Mathilda turned ‘em from ankle-boots to knee-length.” She punched Terence in the shoulder. “Five sickles says she gets ‘Outstanding’ on our Transfiguration OWL.”

Dinner was punctuated by more exclamations of surprise and amusement as their housemates in clubs, late afternoon classes, and study groups trickled into the Great Hall. Adrian pretended not to notice, letting the rest of the Quidditch team spread the details of the eternal Gryffindor/Slytherin prank war’s latest skirmish, and purposely wobbling the head-bow to amuse Mathilda.

The other houses, for the most part, didn’t notice Adrian’s appearance at all, taking her for a particularly short first-year. Her bows only stood out a little; Slytherins added extra green and silver accessories over their robes to show house pride all the time. Fred and George were the expected exception, and their attention drew Ginny’s. Ron and Hermione, as far as Harry could tell at this distance, were too busy arguing (presumably about their familiars, judging by the gestures) to notice.

After the meal, Ginny slipped ahead of her brothers to the entrance hall and skidded to a halt directly in front of Adrian before the Slytherins could reach the dungeon stairs. Terence and Harry peered around their tiny housemate at the now slightly-less-tiny second-year Gryffindor.

“Why?” Ginny blurted out, gesturing in confusion towards Adrian’s entire appearance.

“Hm?” Adrian lifted the hem of her oversized robes and looked speculatively at her transfigured boots. “Well, I need these to fit, and Mathilda drives a hard bargain.”

“No, I mean…” Ginny gestured again.

Adrian grinned at her. “Ask your brothers. And speak of the-  _ oh no _ .”

“Hi Harry! Hi Ginny!”

“Hello, Colin…”

Fred and George bracketed the bouncing Ravenclaw, smirking.

“I didn’t recognize you!” Colin told Adrian.

“Really?” Adrian asked. She pressed one hand to her chest dramatically. “After that great advice I gave you last year?”

“You look really different!” He held up his camera. “Ginny, can you step closer? Your hair contrasts better than Harry’s!”

“Ah…” Ginny looked nervously between Adrian and the twins.

“It’s fine, Weasley,” Adrian said, and tugged on Ginny’s arm. “Birdbrain, you can take as many as you want as long as I get prints.” Ginny let herself be pulled into the space between Adrian and Harry just as Colin’s camera flashed. Yurika and Grant strolled out of the Great Hall and paused behind the Weasley twins. Slowly, quietly, they started pulling sparkly silver ribbons from their pockets.

“You know what this needs?” Terence said laconically, as Adrian convinced Ginny to try on the green bow, which  _ did _ complement her red hair. “More people.”

“Who?” Colin asked. Yurika and Grant pounced, the twins yelped, and Colin spun around. Ginny ignored the shrieks of alarm from her brothers, getting the bow perched at a jaunty angle. Momentarily Fred and George were dragged, laughing and sporting several glittery bows apiece, to join the Slytherins and Ginny for a group photo.

“Here,” Terence said, when Colin lowered his camera once more. “You get in there.” Colin beamed and scampered over, wriggling into the spot next to Harry that Terence vacated.

“Everyone say ‘quidditch’ on three,” Terence said, raising the camera. “One, two three-”

“Quidditch!”


	8. History Keeps Pulling Me Down

“Terence, Terence look!”

Adrian, successfully unshrunk, pointed excitedly at a flyer on the notices board.

“ _ Uuuuugh _ ,” Terence groaned. “Aren’t you usually bearable in the morning?”

“I’m never bearable,” Adrian said back. She tapped the flyer. “First Hogsmeade trip! It’s Halloween!”

“Isn’t that this weekend?” Harry asked. Adrian nodded, grinning. She wasn’t the only one to delight in the flyer; all the third-years stopped to re-read it several times over the day, along with a few fourth-years that had trouble talking their parents into signing their forms earlier. Adrian had only gotten her permission letter at the end of last year, and kept asking Terence to confirm rumors she’d heard.

“No, Madam Puddifoot owns the tea shop,” Terence sighed. “Madam  _ Rosmerta _ runs the pub.”

“The Hog’s Head?”

“No, the other one, the Three Broomsticks.”

Draco spent the week loudly telling Vincent and Gregory everything he’d heard about Hogsmeade whenever Harry was nearby. He only seemed to shut up in class, and still took advantage of Snape’s attitude in Potions to repeatedly compare the rainbow swirl of their current assignment, a pesticide that also promoted healthy root growth in wildflowers, to the many-colored candies in Honeydukes.

“It’s Friday, Draco, where’s your owl?” Pansy asked curiously at breakfast the day before Halloween, noting the absence of his usual care package.

“Mother sent double my allowance instead, yesterday,” Draco drawled. “Father says I’m responsible enough to make my own financial decisions.”

Harry snorted into his pancakes.

“I’m sorry, did you have something to add?” Draco said, sneering at him. “Your guardians don’t even think you’re responsible enough to  _ go _ to Hogsmeade.”

“Yes, that is exactly the problem, you have summed up the situation exactly,” Harry deadpanned.

“No luck getting your form signed, then?” Theodore asked, slipping a cantaloupe rind into his pocket for Leoflaed to nibble.

“They sent it back in scraps,” Harry said, shrugging. He’d asked Hedwig to carry his permission slip to the Dursley’s again, with a note explaining first and second-years weren’t even allowed to go, it was so dangerous. He’d hoped Vernon’s poorly-concealed desire to see Harry meet a sticky end and stop being Vernon’s problem would outweigh his habit of denying Harry anything that made him happy. It hadn’t worked.

“Gimme a Galleon and I’ll pick you up a roll of Sugar Quills,” Theodore suggested.

“If you actually bring the receipt and give me back my change, I’ll split ‘em with you,” Harry offered.

“A Galleon and two Sickles, I keep the spare Knuts, and we split a roll of Sugar Quills  _ and _ a box of Chocolate Frogs.”

“Deal.” Harry stuck his hand across the table for Theodore to shake. He could dig the coins from the bottom of his trunk before everyone left tomorrow.

Daphne rolled her eyes. “We get pudding every night here, and you’re after candy?” She shook her head. “Everyone knows it’s  _ Zonko’s _ you save up for.”

“You’re not supposed to go in there!” Astoria Greengrass piped up from down the table. “Mum said not to, I heard her tell you!”

“Mum says a lot of things,” Daphne said.

“She’ll cut off your allowance,” Astoria insisted. “Joke shops aren’t dignified!”

“Mum doesn’t have to know,” Daphne said. “Neither does Dad. You better not put that in your letters, I’m already in trouble ‘cause you snitched about my study group.”

“Ooh,” Pansy drawled. “Keeping secrets from Mummy and Daddy, Daphne?”

“Looking for a haircut, Pansy?” Daphne asked, smiling sweetly. Pansy blanched, and Astoria looked between the two third-years, confused by the seeming non-sequitur. The bell for morning classes chimed before she could ask for an explanation.

Harry slipped away from the other Slytherins on Halloween morning, heading for the library. Hagrid was busy decorating the Great Hall for the feast that night, and Harry didn’t feel much like visiting the grass snakes; he’d caught prefects and teachers lurking whenever he went outside by himself. He paused on the marble staircase and looked back at the crowd pouring out of the Great Hall. Tiny Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were walking past him back to their towers, while the youngest Hufflepuffs and Slytherins vanished down side stairwells. He spotted Adrian at the front of the crowd heading out the front door, one arm slung over Terence’s shoulder, laughing at something sixth-year Mildred Peebles was saying.

Hermione seemed to have made up for her cat’s murderous attempts on Scabbers somehow, and was chatting happily with Ron and Longbottom in the middle of the Gryffindors. She spotted Harry on the stairs and waved; he waved back, and finally turned away from the crowd.

The library was quieter than usual; he knew from past years that the first and second-years were taking advantage of the older students’ absence to get all the good spots in their common rooms. He worked on homework until lunch, and afterwards started wandering the halls idly. He stuck to back halls and odd passages concealed by tapestries, and fell into several conversations with who paintings that had gotten him un-lost as a firstie.

“Harry?”

Intent on a suit of armor at the end of the hall that might be good practice for drawing light-on-metal (thankfully  _ not _ threatening him with a halberd, this time), Harry had walked right past Professor Lupin’s office. “What are you doing here?”

“Exploring,” Harry said. He shrugged, trying not to think how many new places there would be to wander in Hogsmeade. “Less crowded today.”

“I used to explore the castle a fair bit, myself,” Lupin said, smiling. “Would you like a cup of tea? I just set a pot to steep.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, following Lupin into his office. There was a glass tank on this desk, much larger than the ones that held Hagrid’s flobberworms. The creature inside looked like someone with a poor grasp of anatomy had tried to build a doll out of greenbeans and two grimy tennis balls. Its body was barely bigger than its round head, its fingers were longer than the creature was tall, and Harry got the impression that the waterweeds in the tank were hiding an excessive number of legs. “What is that?”

“A grindylow,” Lupin said. He moved an empty, smoking goblet out of the way so he could set out a pair of chipped mugs for tea. “Just got it in today, for the next lesson. Note the fingers-”

“Hard not to.”

Lupin grinned. “People often mistake them for twigs floating in the water, but once they get your ankles-”

Harry jumped back as the grindylow lunged forward and slapped its hands against the glass with a wet  _ splatch _ . It bared two rows of fangs at Harry, then retreated deeper into the waterweeds.

“Very strong, very brittle,” Lupin went on. “The teeth tend to distract people, but you’ll want to ignore them and break its grip.” He poured the tea.

“Are we…ever doing boggarts again?” Harry asked, after the first sip.

“Everything we’ve learned about will come up in the end-of-year exam,” Lupin said, raising his brows over his own mug of tea. “Why do you ask?”

“I…never managed the Riddikulus Charm,” Harry said. “And I was fine with the Red Caps and kappas, but…”

“Harry, did you know the Ministry-recommended curriculum doesn’t even have students learn about boggarts until their fifth year?”

“Really?”

“Really,” Lupin said, nodding. He set his mug down on the desk, and the grindylow shot it a suspicious look. “I wasn’t actually going introduce them until the spring, but with one so conveniently lurking in the staff room…” He sighed. “Severus thinks I was too quick off the mark.”

“No!” Harry said emphatically, shaking his head so hard his tea nearly spilled. “You weren’t! It really helped everyone, Hermione says Longbottom would still be scared of the drawings in the  _ book _ if you hadn’t helped him fight that boggart, and I hear Daphne pep herself up in Transfiguration sometimes, saying if she can turn the Red Shoes funny, she can turn a teapot into a tortoise.”

“Oh,” Lupin said quietly. “Thank you, Harry.”

~~~

The Halloween feast that night was even more magnificent than the last two years combined. Harry wondered if the school was trying to impress the firsties; he’d counted heads once, and there were nearly twice as many first as second-years. Some of them complained about the Potions dungeon being too cramped, during their double lessons.

Adrian was still rhapsodizing over Hogsmeade by the time the feast wrapped up. She caught Harry’s sour look halfway down the dungeon stairs and reached past Terence to ruffle his hair. “Don’t worry, we’ll just forge a signature for you next year,” she said. “Yurika’s really good at them. Your aunt or uncle ever sign their letters to you?”

“Probably shouldn’t say that in front of me,” Terence said, glancing at his silver prefect’s badge. Adrian dropped her jaw in mock-affront.

“You wouldn’t snitch on Yurika!” Adrian said. “Not when she gets you into the Restricted Section all the time.”

“Why’d  _ you  _ never forge one?” Harry asked, as they nipped through the stone archway leading to the common room.

“Knew Uncle Alvie’d send it back eventually,” Adrian said, shrugging. “Be a bit awkward if I’d already turned one in.” She rubbed the back of her head. “…I also never have any information that Yurika’d trade for because  _ someone _ ,” she elbowed Terence, “always beats me to it.”

They were just about to part ways at the tunnels leading to the sleeping chambers, when Professor McGonagall’s magnified voice rang out from the ceiling.

“All students are to return to the Great Hall immediately. All students to the Great Hall.”

For a brief, awful moment, Harry thought someone had been petrified again. The sick, horrified look on many other students implied they were thinking the same thing, and then a whispered name spread through the room.

_ Sirius Black _ .

“Gotta be him,” Terence muttered, before pushing through the crowd to help the other fifth-year prefect corral the firsties.

In the Great Hall, Harry winnowed his way through the Gryffindors until he found Hermione, Adrian sticking close and occasionally elbowing people when they didn’t move fast enough.

“You’re all right!” Hermione gasped when she saw him.

“Are  _ you _ all right?” Harry asked. Hermione nodded. “What  _ happened _ ?”

“Sirius Black,” Hermione said. “He cut up the Fat Lady’s portrait, she’s run off, Peeves said he tried to get into Gryffindor Tower!”

An older Gryffindor Harry didn’t know noticed the green trimming Adrian’s robes and glared over Harry and Hermione’s heads at her. “One of your lot smuggle Black past the dementors?”

“Yes, of fucking course, letting a murderer onto campus so he can kill our Seeker is secretly Slytherin’s plan to win the Quidditch Cup this year,” Adrian said, rolling her eyes. “Clever of you to figure it out.”

Professor Dumbledore drew everyone’s attention at that point. The staff were searching the castle. The ghosts would relay messages. The Head Boy and Girl would remain here to protect them, along with the regular prefects. Most students looked to Percy Weasley at this point, standing near the Headmaster, shoulders back and head up, chest puffed out so the candlelight caught on his Head Boy badge. The Slytherins’ eyes, however, roamed around until they spotted Gemma Farley, tucked into the shadow of a stone column that gave her a clear shot at the door.

Dumbledore summoned hundreds of royal purple sleeping bags for everyone, and left.

“C’mon,” Adrian muttered, and started dragging one sleeping bag over to the edge of the Ravenclaw enclave. Harry and Hermione followed, and Harry noticed the other Gryffindors spreading throughout the hall, telling everyone what had happened.

“Lights out in one minute!” Percy called. “Everyone settle down.”

“Why did he come to Gryffindor?” Hermione asked. “Do you think he hid something there? I saw his name on a list of old Gobstones Champions, up in the Clubs’ Awards Room, it had a ‘G’ by his name…”

“Nah,” Adrian said, conspicuously making sure her sleeping bag was closer to the door than Harry and Hermione’s. “Probably just thought halfpint was up there, since the Potters were in Gryffindor.”

Harry winced as Hermione’s eyes went wide. “He’s after  _ Harry _ ?” She twisted around in her sleeping bag to glare at Harry. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“He might not be,” Harry said, not looking at her.

“ _ Might _ not be?”

“Lights out!” Percy extinguished the floating candles with two slow waves of his wand, and began prowling among the sleeping bags. “No more talking, go to sleep!”

“Like we can sleep knowing a killer’s in here,” one of the Ravenclaws muttered.

Slowly, the chatter died down, helped somewhat by Percy’s sharp ears and strict adherence to rules. Harry couldn’t sleep; Black probably  _ was _ after him, and he’d already attacked the Fat Lady. What would he have done, if the Gryffindors had returned from the feast earlier? Or if Black had learned which house Harry was  _ really _ in, and gone for the dungeons instead? Even Gemma wasn’t a match for someone who could blow up thirteen people in one go. . .

In the wee hours of the morning, he saw the Headmaster and Professor Snape talking with Percy. A ripple of whispers raced across the hall from those nearest the conversation; the search was complete, no sign of Sirius Black.

“Shove over,” Terence whispered hoarsely, a moment after the news flitted past. “They’re finally letting the prefects sleep.” Adrian shuffled in her sleeping bag, opening up more floor space for Terence, and he settled down between her and the Ravenclaws.

“Is the Fat Lady all right?” Hermione whispered. “Did they find her?”

“Hiding in a landscape painting,” Terence said. “Tower’ll be guarded by Sir Cadogan until she’s restored.”

“That insane knight who’s always falling off his horse?” Hermione gasped quietly.

“I like Sir Cadogan,” Harry said. The medieval jousting portrait had gotten him un-lost more than once.

“Everyone go back to sleep!” Percy hissed.

~~~

Despite the scare, Marcus still insisted on rousing the Quidditch team at the crack of dawn the next morning for practice. Adrian ran off to the Slytherin dungeon to change as fast as she could, after Terence assured her he wouldn’t let anyone murder Harry. She caught up to the rest of the team just as they finished getting their robes on and were milling about the locker room, waiting for Marcus to go over today’s practice regime.

“We’re changing tactics,” Marcus said, cracking his knuckles as he addressed the team. “Meads said the rain is sticking around until December, and I don’t fancy a repeat of last year.” Gertrude Meads, a seventh-year Slytherin taking NEWT-level Xylomancy, was earning a lot of favors among her classmates by focusing on weather-prediction. Outside the locker room, heavy grey clouds sat low in the sky, threatening another downpour.

“So, what, we’re finally getting Impervious’d goggles?” Adrian asked curiously.

Marcus shook his head. “Hooch won’t let in new kinds of equipment unless  _ all _ the teams have a chance to get some. No, I’ve asked her to swap us out for Hufflepuff.”

“What?” Adrian gasped, taking a step forward, and Lucian and Graham looked surprised as well. Draco smirked, and patted his sling. “But we  _ always _ play Gryffindor first! We set the bar for the year!”

“Rainy weather’s bad for the hippogriff wounds,” Marcus said, putting his hands on his hips. “Hooch already agreed, she’s talking to the other captains today. We’re not playing until January.”

“Malfoy’s fine!” Adrian insisted. “He uses that arm all the time when there’s no teachers. You do this, we’re gonna get one of the Ravenclaws claiming a doxy bit ‘em before a match, or Wood’s gonna get smart and ask Hooch to just delay the whole season until after break-”

Marcus glanced away so quickly Harry almost didn’t see, but Adrian caught it and narrowed her eyes. “That’s it, isn’t it? It’s Wood’s last year, he’s gotten manic about the Cup. You want him worn down before we fight. You’re scared of him.”

“No.” Marcus gave a very fake laugh. “That maniac? He ties himself in knots. Who’d be scared of him?”

“I think you are.”

“Well, it doesn’t matter what you think,” Marcus said, shrugging. “ ‘cause you’re off the team.”

“ _ What? _ ” Adrian rocked back on her heels. The rest of the team gasped.

“You’ve been on thin ice since your first match,” Marcus said. “You ignore team strategy-”

“Yeah, ‘cause cheating every match is a stupid fucking strategy,” Adrian said, flinging her arms out to either side and hitting Lucian in the face. “You’ve made us  _ predictable _ you twat, the other teams factor in how many penalty shots they can get off us when  _ they’re _ doing strategy.”

“You argue all the time-”

“Only when you’re being an ass. Oh, wait, you’re right, that  _ is _ all the time.”

“And you’re replaceable,” Marcus finished with a sneer. “Warrington tried out in October, he’s our new Chaser.”

“Warrington couldn’t keep hold of the Quaffle if you put a Sticking Charm on his gloves,” Adrian snapped.

“That’s not a bad idea,” Marcus said. “Maybe you’d still be on the team if you’d been that creative to start with, eh?”

“Go suck a bubotuber.” Adrian held out her hand. “Gimme the key, I’m getting my broom.”

“You can get your broom when you bring back the robe,” Marcus drawled. Adrian narrowed her eyes. Since she always changed into her Quidditch robe back in her dormitory, she’d have to go all the way back across the grounds, change, and come back to get her broomstick, by which time practice would be well under way, so she’d have to wait even  _ longer _ . “Guess that means tomorrow, huh? Unless you fancy walking back to the castle in your knickers.”

“ _ Gimme the FUCKING key _ .”

“Language, Puce-”

“Fuck you and your ugly fucking face you fucking sack of shit. What’re you gonna do, kick me off the team  _ again _ ?” Adrian spun around and shoved Graham out of her way to get back out the door. Harry quickly grabbed his regular robes off the hook and followed her. Outside, Adrian was angrily unlacing her leather arm guards. Or rather, trying to; her hands were trembling. “Mother _ fucker _ .” She yanked her left sleeve out of the arm guard, and reached up it to get her wand.

“Er, Adrian-” Terence started to say; everyone had stuck their heads out the locker room door to see what she was doing.

“I know it’s booby-trapped, shut up,” she snarled. Terence raised his eyebrows, but obligingly shut up. Adrian pointed her wand at the broom shed’s lock. “ _ Alohamora! _ ” She threw herself to the ground just as a spout of flame shot out of the keyhole, and rolled out of the way as the door sprang open. Terence held out a hand,; Adrian used his arm to pull herself up. “Thanks.”

“Would you lot get back in here?” Marcus called from inside. The rest of the team hastily withdrew, though Terence lingered.

“Go on, practice,” Adrian said, rummaging around in the shed for her personal Comet 190. “Someone’s gotta get him with a Bludger for me.” Terence nodded, and popped away. Harry stuck his hand on the shed door before Adrian could close it again.

“…what are you doing?” Adrian asked.

“Getting my Nimbus,” Harry said, doing exactly that. He stuck the broomstick under his arm with his robes. “I’ll bring my team robes back tomorrow; I don’t think the captain wants to see me in my knickers.”

Adrian stared at him blankly for a long, silent moment, and then burst out laughing.

~~~

The week leading up to the Gryffindor/Hufflepuff match passed agonizingly slowly. Most of Harry’s yearmates gave him the cold shoulder once word got around he’d quit, which made classes awkward. The hissing insults in the halls from older housemates had come back too; first Potter lets them think he’s the Heir of Slytherin, only to turn around and stab a giant fang through the  _ real _ Heir, now he ruins their Quidditch chances by  _ quitting _ ? Who did he think he was?

Adrian, on the other hand, was viewed with sympathy, but that didn’t stop her mood from being as foul as the weather outside. She left a hex on Marcus’s locker when she and Harry returned their team robes Monday evening, and wouldn’t talk to anyone. Even when Mildred challenged her to a chess match, Adrian just tapped her pieces and the board, instead of issuing verbal commands.

The storms grew bad enough that even Hagrid cancelled class, telling the Care of Magical Creatures students that he’d moved the flobberworms into his cabin, and urging them to stay indoors. Madam Hooch cancelled flying lessons as well after a strong gust of wind nearly swept Colin Creevey into the Whomping Willow.

Draco Malfoy took to sighing loudly as he looked at the rain lashing the windows whenever there were Gryffindors nearby. “If only my arm were better…”

He repeated this while glancing at Dean Thomas’s cauldron during Double Potions, despite the lack of windows in that dungeon. Thomas, a Chaser on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, was trying to ignore him, but his best friend Seamus Finnigan told Draco to “Shut your stupid mouth!”

“Five points from Gryffindor,” Snape said idly, stalking amongst the lab tables. Finnigan flushed angrily. Harry dumped his leftover newt bladders into Draco’s cauldron, turning it from pleasant grass-green to sickly yellow.

“Professor!” Draco yelped. “Harry’s interfering with my potion!”

But though Snape told Draco which ingredients would undo the damage and set Finnigan to cutting them up for him, he didn’t say anything to Harry about this misbehavior. Since that first class with the near-poisoning of Trevor, Harry had done something obnoxious every week. Using the wrong ingredients so his potion sparked and fizzed, or emitted a foul odor; excessively banging his metal tools against the basin during clean-up; repeating Snape’s words under his breath when the professor addressed the class. This was the first time he’d messed up someone else’s work though, and while it  _ was _ Draco, he still felt a little bad about it.

“He’s going to stop ignoring you eventually,” Draco hissed at Harry on their way to lunch. “Then you’ll be in trouble.”

“Until then, why don’t you stop taunting the Gryffindors?” Harry suggested. 

“But it’s good strategy,” Millicent said from behind them. “If they do badly against Hufflepuff, we have a better shot at the Cup.”

“Oh, are you talking to me again?” Harry asked her. Millicent pretended she hadn’t heard, and quickened her steps to catch up with Pansy and Tracey.

Much to his surprise, Harry walked into the library after dinner on Friday evening and found both Neville Longbottom and Ron Weasley sitting with Hermione while she did her homework. Hermione’s eyes were red, and she didn’t look up from her Arithmancy equations when he sat down with them.

“What’s happened?” Harry asked.

“Snape taught Defense today,” Ron growled. “Professor Lupin’s sick, and that  _ git- _ ”

“Er, that professor,” Longbottom corrected, looking at Harry nervously. Snape  _ was _ the head of Slytherin house, after all, though even the Gryffindors in Double Potions had noticed his odd behavior regarding Harry. “He jumped ahead in the book and said Lupin was disorganized, and he called Hermione-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Hermione said, but it was too late.

“An insufferable know-it-all,” Neville finished, and then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, Hermione.”

“He shouldn’t talk to you like that,” Harry said lowly. “He’s a teacher, he’s no right to say that.”

“Who’s no right to say what?” Daphne asked, walking up to the table. She was the only Slytherin in Harry’s year still talking to him, not counting Draco’s sniping. Even Theodore was ignoring him, though he seemed to be ignoring  _ everyone _ at the moment.

“Nothing,” Hermione said quickly. “Can we please study now? I really need to get this done.”

“Sure, yeah.”

“Right.”

“Sorry.”

Saturday dawned with a thunderstorm, the flashes of lightning visible even under the lake. Harry felt a twinge of guilt for being glad he wasn’t going to be flying in that nightmare.

“You rooting for Gryffindor or Hufflepuff?” Terence asked Adrian. They were huddled up near the fire, playing a round of chess before breakfast.

“Rooting for Marcus to fall outta the stands and eat mud,” Adrian said, the longest sentence she had uttered since being kicked off the team. Her bishop walloped Terence’s pawn.

“Funny you mention the captain,” Terence said, directing his knight into the spot the bishop had vacated. “His locker’s hinges keep shouting rude words whenever he opens it.” Adrian grinned.

The stands were a sea of umbrellas at first, but after the wind ripped several from their owners’ hands, Hooch magnified her voice and told everyone to close them up and stow them under their feet. Quidditch players might be obliged to hold a match in a thunderstorm, but dodging umbrellas was pushing it. Harry huddled under this winter cloak in the front row, and hoped Cedric Diggory or Alicia Spinnet caught the Snitch early. The rain was blowing sideways.

The captains barely brushed hands for the traditional clasp before Hooch signaled the start of the game. After ten minutes, Adrian re-collapsed her brass binoculars and shoved them into her pocket. Between the thick clouds blotting out the sun and the torrents of rain, they could hardly see the players.

A flash of lightning illuminated a goal made by Hufflepuff, and Harry gasped; all the way across the pitch, up in the topmost empty row of seats, sat a large black dog.

“What on earth?” Harry was out of his seat and leaning across the railing before he even thought about it. He could have sworn it was the same dog from Privet Drive, but that was insane. How would a stray dog get all the way from Surrey to Scotland?

“What are you doing?” Adrian yelled.

“I saw something!” Harry shouted back. He stepped up on the bottom rung, leaning precariously forward. One more flash of lightning, come on, he just wanted to see-

His hands, already cold and wet, suddenly went completely numb. His eyes were drawn downwards, and the next flash of lightning showed a hundred dementors at the bottom of the pitch. He couldn’t look away as the sky went dark once more, horrified by their shadowy presence. The screaming started again. This time, there were words.

“ _ Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!” _

_ “Stand aside, you silly girl…stand aside, now…” _

_ “Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-” _

He didn’t even feel himself start to fall over the railing, towards the ominous hoard below. The screams filled him up, leaving no room for anything else but the cold.

_ “Not Harry! Please…have mercy…have mercy…” _

~~~

Harry woke up to the familiar sight of the Hogwarts infirmary ceiling. He felt heavy and lethargic, and quickly shut his eyes again against the bright lamplight.

“I know you’re awake,” Hermione said.

“I’m not,” Harry mumbled.

“Madam Pomfrey said you had to eat this when you woke up,” Hermione continued relentlessly. She dropped a plate with a pile of chocolate chunks onto his stomach. “It’ll be easier if you sit up, you know.”

Harry grabbed the edge of the plate and pushed himself up with his other hand. Someone had cast the Drying Charm on his robes and taken off his shoes. He glanced down and saw them sitting on the floor next to the hospital bed. Hermione sat in a chair by the bedside table, and Adrian slouched in a chair down by the foot of the bed, gnawing sullenly on her own chocolate. Far past them, Madam Pomfrey stood in the infirmary doorway, handing out chocolate to a line of students.

“The dementors affected everyone,” Hermione said quietly, noticing his line of sight. “Nobody even moved to help Pucey pull you up, until Dumbledore chased them away with this sort of silvery wisp.”

“You pulled me up?” Harry asked, pausing in his chocolate consumption to look at Adrian. “Wait. I  _ needed _ to be pulled up? From what?”

“You were halfway over the railing,” Hermione said, while Adrian just kept chewing at her chocolate. “What were you doing out of your seat, anyway, cheering on Hufflepuff?”

“Just trying to see through the rain,” Harry said. He didn’t feel inclined to tell them about the dog. It seemed silly, now, indoors in the bright light, away from the rain and lightning. Maybe he imagined it, with all the shadows out there. He decided not to tell them about the voices he’d heard when the dementors showed up, either. They might ask if he knew who they were, and he didn’t want to tell them the answer was  _ yes _ .

“I gave her the chance to stand aside,” Voldemort had told him, gloating over his assumed-victory for the Philosopher’s Stone. “She needn’t have died.” That cold, cruel voice had drawled lazily through the screams for mercy, and Harry knew the woman begging for his life, not her own, was his mother. He shuddered, took another bite of chocolate, and wrinkled his nose.

“…why does it smell like chili peppers in here?” Harry asked.

“Unstraining Salve,” Adrian said, rubbing at one shoulder. “You’re a little harder to catch than a Quaffle, small fry. Do me a favor and don’t take anymore headers, all right?”

“Not planning on it,” Harry said. “It was embarrassing enough fainting on the  _ train _ .” He fidgeted with the now-empty plate.  “Are  _ you _ all right?”

“Yeah, fine,” Adrian said. “Pomfrey’s salve’s instantaneous. I don’t think I’m gonna get this smell outta my robes, though.”

“You could’ve taken the pajamas Madam Pomfrey brought you,” Hermione said.

“In the middle of the day?” Adrian asked, looking horrified. “No way. Makes me feel like a little kid.”

“Well stop complaining about your robes, then,” Hermione said.

~~~

Visitors paraded past the hospital wing after dinner, mostly Harry’s Slytherin yearmates; nearly falling to your death was, apparently, sufficiently awful to make up for quitting the team. Madam Pomfrey pressed chocolate onto anyone still looking dementor-fatigued, but refused to let them see Harry. Cards piled up on the nightstand. Pansy and Tracey wrote him get-well-soon wishes in such fancy calligraphy he could barely read it, and Draco had apparently gotten his hands on their card before it arrived, adding a little stick-figure drawing of Harry plummeting from the last letter onto the curlique border. Daphne sent a reminder about their next study session, with a p.s. stating that Dumbledore had looked  _ very _ angry at the match, so the dementors were  _ extremely _ unlikely to set foot on the grounds again. Harry wasn’t sure if she was trying to reassure him or herself more.

Colin Creevey didn’t send a card, but jumped up and down in the doorway, waving vigorously, to Pomfrey’s great annoyance. She was actually relieved enough once he left that she allowed Hermione back in briefly to deliver a card personally.

“All the Gryffindors in our year signed it,” she said. “Except Dean, but he-”

“Made the card.” Harry grinned at the watercolor Snitch decorating the front. “Tell them all thanks?”

“Of course.”

Pomfrey finally let Harry out of the hospital wing Sunday morning after a substantial breakfast (with chocolate syrup for the pancakes). He shoved all the cards into one pocket of his robes and made the long trek back to the Slytherin dungeon, intending to get his homework and head for the library. Unfortunately, Draco accosted him the moment he stepped through the archway into the common room.

“Getting tired of fainting yet, Harry?” Draco smirked. He’d finally taken his sling off.

“No, it’s a lovely respite from the sound of your voice,” Harry said.

Draco scowled briefly, then forced the smirk back on. “You could get rid of them, you know. If you stopped being such a coward about Black. No need for dementors around the school if he’s taken care of.”

“I don’t really fancy letting someone murder me, thanks.”

“He can’t murder you if you get him  _ first _ ,” Draco said, tone sly. “I’m surprised you haven’t tried already. Don’t you want revenge? You were so keen to be a white knight for all the Mudbloods last year, but now-”

Draco yelped as Harry shoved past him, stepping heavily on his foot.

“Leave me alone, Draco,” Harry said. He didn’t want to hear someone flinging around the word  _ Mudblood _ with his Muggle-born mother’s screams still ringing in his head.

“Keep running away, than!” Draco yelled after him, as Harry made his way towards the dorms for his bookbag. “He won’t stop until he’s killed you, you know, it’ll be one of your little Gryffindor friends who gets cut up next. He’s spent twelve years waiting in Azkaban to finish off the Potters, he won’t stop just because you’re a coward!”

Harry paused, something about the wording catching his attention. “What do you mean, ‘finish off the Potters’?” The only wizard in the massacre twelve years ago had been someone called Peter Pettigrew, the Daily Prophet had said.

“Don’t you  _ know _ ?” Draco laughed. The rest of the common room had grown quiet, listening. “You don’t, do you?”

“Know  _ what _ ?” Harry snapped.

“Something he shouldn’t be shouting for everyone to hear,” Gemma said coolly, stepping forward. Adrian lurked just past her shoulder; Harry suspected she’d elbowed Gemma into breaking up the fight. “Malfoy, go pull the out-of-date notices from the board.”

“What?” Draco asked, smug look wiped from his face.

“You’ve too much free time, if you’re bored enough to goad a housemate into getting killed.” A quick glare around the room made everyone start their own conversations back up again. “Potter, this way.” Gemma led Harry to a small table in the corner between the fireplace and the dorm entrances. Adrian grabbed Terence from his comfortable arm chair along the way, and the two of them sat down in the only seats close enough to eavesdrop from, preventing anyone else from doing so. Gemma shot them a look from the corner of her eye, but didn’t comment.

“What was he talking about?” Harry asked, after Gemma had him sit down.

“Something not common knowledge,” Gemma said. She steepled her fingers, and regarded Harry intently. “My father’s cousin was the Daily Prophet’s legal correspondent when Sirius Black was arrested. He never got a trial, which was fishy. Some digging turned up testimony from Professor Dumbledore in a pre-trial hearing.”

“The Headmaster testified?”

“Yes,” Gemma said. “And Minister Fudge would have access to the transcripts, which is likely why Malfoy was running his mouth. The Minister sometimes looks to that family for advice.” She sighed, placing her hands flat on the table. “A spy had alerted Dumbledore to Voldemort taking a disturbing interest in your parents, and he suggested the Fidelius Charm to keep them safe. You can look up the details in the NEWT Charms text in the library. The key point is a Secret-Keeper, who is the  _ only _ person who could reveal their location. Dumbledore offered, but the Potters turned him down. They thought he was too much of a target already.”

A twisting suspicion gripped Harry. Under the table, his hands clenched around his knees, bunching up the fabric of his robes. He swallowed hard, and forced out the logical, damning question. “Who did they pick instead?”

“Presumably Sirius Black,” Gemma said calmly. “He was the best man at your parents wedding, and the last words Peter Pettigrew ever uttered were ‘ _ Lily and James, Sirius, how could you! _ ’” She paused. “That was in a Statute of Secrecy enforcer’s report, they interviewed the Muggles who witnessed the murder before altering their memories of the event.”

“Why?” Harry croaked out, not sure if he was asking why his parents had trusted Black, or why he had betrayed them.

“Why didn’t I tell you earlier?” Gemma guessed. “I assumed the teachers already had. My apologies.”

“No, I mean…was he Imperius’d?”

“The Fidelius Charm cannot be subverted by the Imperius curse,” Gemma said. “Or by truth potions, or Legilimency. Supposedly not by Crucio or mundane torture, either, though it’s often attempted.”

“Was Black…?”

“He showed no signs of injury at the time of his arrest,” Gemma said. “Most Crucio victims will injure themselves while thrashing. I’m sorry.” She rose from the table, nodded to Harry, and walked away.


	9. Lately I've Been Losing Sleep

_ Don’t think about it, don’t think about it _ …

Harry tried to force his mind to focus on lessons.  _ Don’t think about it.  _ Transfigure this, charm that, sketch these. Two pages of his sketchbook filled with tall hooded figures.  _ Don’t think about it _ . He followed the directions step by step in Potions, finishing later than everyone else but not purposely disrupting anything. Daphne added a tablespoon of nutmeg to her potion instead of a teaspoon. Bright green sparks shot out of her cauldron, nearly the same shade as the flash in Harry’s earliest memory, the last thing his parents saw after their friend betrayed–

_ Don’t think about it _ .

His spells kept going wrong all week, to the point that Professor McGonagall pulled him aside after Transfiguration on Thursday and asked if he was all right. 

“I’m fine, professor.”

“You are most certainly not,” McGonagall said sternly. “I haven’t seen a toffee to taffy spell go that wrong in twenty years.”

Harry shuffled his feet; his toffee, rather than turning a lovely pastel, had gone pitch black and eaten a hole through the desk. “I’ve got to get to class,” he blurted out, and bolted. It was a complete fabrication, Transfiguration was his last class of the day on Thursdays, but he could hear McGonagall’s next batch of students coming down the hall already.

At breakfast Friday, one of the school owls dropped a tiny, folded bit of parchment onto Harry’s toast, and fluttered off without bothering to snack.  _ Hedwig would have stolen my bacon _ , Harry thought, and realized he hadn’t been up to visit the snowy owl in weeks. Determined to go up to the owlery that morning (homework could wait until he’d assured Hedwig she wasn’t forgotten) Harry skimmed the short note.

_ Harry, regarding your essay, please see me this evening after classes. _ _   
_ _ Professor R. Lupin. _

Their essay comparing grindylows and Red Caps wasn’t due until next week, wasn’t it? Harry went back to the Slytherin dungeon after the Astronomy lecture, shoved his essay and Defense textbook into his bag along with his art supplies, and went off to visit Hedwig. She nibbled at his hair affectionately while he groomed her feathers. Harry stayed in the owlery for an hour, getting the sleeping owls down on paper.

Harry knocked at Lupin’s office door that evening. The Defense professor welcomed him in with a broad smile and a hot cup of tea.

“I apologize for the deception Harry,” Lupin, sitting down in a spindly chair opposite him. “This isn’t about your essay at all; it’s more of the practical aspects of our class.”

“Did Professor McGonagall put you up to this?” Harry asked suspiciously.

“No,” Lupin said. “I meant to speak to you after class, but it has been a very busy week. I apologize for that, as well.”

“It’s all right,” Harry said. “Um. If it’s not the essay, why am I here?”

“Because I have been told, by two very concerned students and also Professor McGonagall, of your reaction to the dementors at the match,” Lupin said. “Those same students also threatened to not leave my office until I promised to teach them how to fight dementors, though to their credit it was a very  _ subtle _ threat that most teachers would not have picked up on.”

Harry had assumed Hermione had approached Lupin, convinced a good teacher could solve anything. But he couldn’t imagine her threatening a teacher, let alone being subtle about it. “Terence and Adrian told you,” Harry said, glaring into his tea.

“They didn’t mention your name,” Lupin assured him. “Though after the train, I’m afraid I guessed, and Professor McGonagall’s concerns simply confirmed them. Harry, firstly, I want to tell you about dementors.”

Lupin fell into the cadence of his lectures, making small hand gestures as he spoke. “Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places, they glory in decay and despair, they drain peace, hope and happiness out of the air around them. Even Muggles feel their presence, though they can’t see them. Get too near a dementor and every good feeling, every happy memory will be sucked out of you. If it can, the dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself . . . soul-less and evil. You’ll be left with nothing but the worst experiences of your life. And considering  _ your _ worst experiences, Harry, it is not any surprise, nor any shame, that you would collapse in their presence.”

Harry stared pensively into his tea, swirling the last of it slowly in the bottom of his mug. If anyone had asked him to name the worst experiences of his life before meeting a dementor, he would have- well, he’d have avoided them instead of answering. But if he  _ had _ answered, it would have been Quirrell’s blistering face under his hands, hearing Hermione was petrified, Ginny deathly still on the stones, the heat and convulsion of the dying basilisk-

His mother’s death. Just a green flash, all his life. Then the dementor stepped into the train carriage, and he remembered more each time. More of her voice.

“So that was the first thing,” Lupin said, dropping back into a more conversational tone. “The second is to invite you to the new the class.”

“…what?” Harry asked, startled.

“Terence was not satisfied to hear that only the sixth and seventh-year NEWT students were learning to defend against dementors,” Lupin explained. “He felt that the fifth-year prefects, at least, ought to know as well. With the Headmaster’s permission, I’ve agreed to begin a small class in the evenings every other Monday, once classes resume after the break. As I  _ do _ need time for planning and grading my regular classes, I’ve limited enrollment to ten students.”

“That’s…all the fifth-year prefects and two more,” Harry said, counting quickly in his head.

“I could hardly exclude Adrian after she argued so vehemently in favor of  _ stopping _ ‘reckless third-years’ from fainting in the first place, rather than ‘hauling them back from great bloody precipices’.” His smile turned into a grin. “And logically, after that, it’s only fair to invite  _ you _ as well.” The grin got a little nervous. “That is, if you’d like. I know third year is a busy time-”

“If I’d like?” Harry repeated. “Of course I’d like! How soon after break do we start? What’s the spell? Can I practice on my own?”

Lupin laughed. “We start the first Monday after break, it’s  _ Expecto Patronum _ , and yes you can practice on your own. It’s a very difficult spell to master, however. If you’re interested in the theory and development behind it, I believe Terence has already checked out the best book on the subject from the library.”

~~~

It was not until he was just outside the library door that Harry remembered Monday was one of the few evenings he had to study with Hermione. And now he’d be missing every other one. For a limited class she wasn’t invited to.  _ Oh no _ .

“Hey, Hermione. Hi, Daphne.”

“Hi, Harry,” they said back. Hermione didn’t look up from her Arithmancy chart. “Just a moment, I’ve almost got this one.”

Harry slid a chair out and sat down, pulling his Defense textbook and unfinished essay out of this bag. Might as well get it done now, save time over the weekend. Daphne peered curiously over his shoulder. “I thought we were going over each other’s Potions essays tonight?” she asked.

“Oh no, Daphne, I’m sorry, I completely forgot.” Harry ran one hand down his face. “It’s down in my trunk, I can go get it-”

“No, don’t worry, we can go over it later,” Daphne said. “Granger, are you busy tomorrow?”

“Is that the grindylow essay?” Hermione asked, looking up from Arithmancy. “I’m only half-done with mine, it’s due later than the Potions one. Yes, I’m busy, I’m tomorrow, why?”

“I forgot to bring my Potions essay,” Harry said. “Professor Lupin wanted to see me after classes, and I forgot. Sorry.”

“What did Professor Lupin want?” Hermione asked.

“Honestly Granger,” Daphne said. “You’re as bad as Pansy, if it was our business he’d say so.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped, deeply offended at being compared to Pansy, who’d been making fun of her bushy hair and buck teeth at least once a month since their first year. “It’s a perfectly polite inquiry among friends! Harry knows he doesn’t have to answer.”

“I was going to tell both of you, actually,” Harry said, as Daphne rolled her eyes. “Professor Lupin, um, well, he heard about me, um, fainting at the match. So he’s offered to teach me an anti-dementor spell.”

“But that’s great!” Hermione said. She suddenly frowned. “I wonder if that’s how Black got into Hogwarts…”

“The NEWT students are learning it,” Harry said. “The Ministry probably already took it into account, and Hogwarts has more defenses than the dementors. But, um, since it  _ is _ an advanced spell, it’s going to take a while, so I’ll be busy every other Monday night, starting next term.”

“…oh.” Hermione asked. “So we’re going to have even less time to study together?”

“Oh,” Daphne echoed, and bit her lip. For all her bravado about her parent’s letter (which Daphne pulled out when she wanted to get angry enough to practice hexes) she knew it would be very bad if her blabbermouth sister walked into the library some Monday when Harry wasn’t there, and saw her studying  _ alone _ with Hermione.

“We’ve still got Fridays,” Harry said. “And, you know, every  _ other _ Monday. I’ll just need to be better at bringing the  _ right _ essay for editing, won’t I?” He grinned ruefully, and finally got a smile back.

~~~

The second Hogsmeade Saturday of the term was also the same day the Hogwarts Express would arrive to take everyone home for the break. Filch reminded students on their way out the door to be back at the castle for dinner,  _ or else _ .

“Why don’t they just have everyone stay down there?” Adrian asked Terence. “Seems a bit simpler.”

“Right,” Terence said. “And lug our trunks around with us all afternoon?”

“Ah.”

Harry spent the afternoon in the library, and intended to head right back up after dinner as well; he didn’t want to be in the common room when there was any chance of Draco being there, gloating about Honeydukes and Zonko’s, or making fun of Harry’s dementor problem. If he timed dinner right he mightn’t have to put up with more than a few minutes of Draco pretending to faint over his pudding, or telling Harry with mock-concern “It’s a good thing you can’t visit the Shrieking Shack, really, it’s much too frightening for you.”

The sudden scrape of a chair being pulled out drew Harry’s attention from his Transfiguration essay (due when Christmas break ended). Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom, faces red from cold, sat down opposite Harry and leaned forward. Then leaned back. Looked at each other. Made a few gestures, opened and closed their mouths without saying anything, winced, looked away, and finally Ron leaned forward again while Longbottom bit his lip.

“We…overheard something in the Three Broomsticks,” Ron said. “About you. Sort of. Um. About Sirius Black. And we thought, really, you ought to know.”

“…lot of people’ve been saying stuff about Sirius Black,” Harry said cautiously.

“This was the Minister and a couple teachers,” Ron said.

“We don’t think anyone else heard,” Longbottom added. “We were over in the corner, I don’t think anyone else was close enough to hear.”

“That’s…good?” Harry said. He wished they’d hurry up, the wariness was making him nervous.

“You already know he might be after you,” Ron said. “But now we know he  _ definitely _ is. You know that Peter Pettigrew, from the paper, the one who got blown up?”

“Yeah?”

“Turned out he’d gone  _ looking _ for Black,” Ron said. “Went to school with your parents, and so’d Black, and everyone thought he was on Dumbledore’s side, right? Turns out your parents were going into hiding, Dumbledore told ‘em to, and Black was their Secret Keeper. It’s a really big deal, being a Secret Keeper, it means you’re the  _ only one _ who can reveal the hidden person’s location. Absolute foolproof way to hide your parents from You-Know-Who.”

Oh.

This again.

This again…being talked about in a  _ pub? _

Ron hesitated at Harry’s expression. Harry gestured for him to go on. “Foolproof, not, not backstabber-proof. If Black was the Secret Keeper, it means the  _ only _ reason You-Know-Who was able to kill your parents is because Black told him where they were. The Minister and the teachers, they think Black’s trying to finish what he started, and do you in.”

“And they don’t think  _ I _ need to know that,” Harry ground out between his teeth.

“They think it’d drive you mad, actually,” Longbottom said quietly. “Worried you’d do what Mr. Pettigrew did, and g-get k-killed the same way.”

~~~

Harry  _ almost _ told Hermione about the Secret Keeper thing; she’d been bugging him to tell her what was wrong, ever since Gemma had told  _ him _ . But they couldn’t talk at dinner, not with everyone split up at their house tables. And after dinner she had to rush up to get her trunk, and go back to Hogsmeade with everyone else for the train, and it was the  _ holidays _ they wouldn’t be able to talk about it  _ properly _ until she got back, and-

-and he didn’t want her to worry.

He did tell Adrian, quietly, after they’d gone back down to the deserted dungeon, since she already knew most of it anyway.

“That’s a big favor Weasley just did you,” Adrian said, dragging the obnoxiously high-backed chairs away from the fireplace so she could get a comfier one closer. “He keeps that up, you’ll owe him one.”

“He said it was for saving Ginny,” Harry said. “Least, that’s what he said back before term started.” He kicked at his own chair. “Feels kinda weird to be owed for that.”

“Eh,” Adrian said. “You’re overthinking it, then.”

Knowing he was overthinking it didn’t  _ stop _ him, though, and Harry didn’t fall asleep until well past midnight, running everything through his head. Which teachers had been talking with the Minister, anyway? And if it was such a big secret that Harry couldn’t be told, why’d they talk about it in public? It wasn’t like Ron Weasley and Neville Longbottom were any good at blending in, you had to  _ really _ not be paying attention to miss them.

At least they were wrong about Harry running off; he’d let the Aurors handle Black, thank you very much, if only to spite Draco.

Harry slept late the first morning of break, and slouched into the common room after the sun was full up, stomach yelling at him for missing breakfast. He blinked in surprise at the sight of Adrian chucking an orange across the common room.

“ _ Accio, orange _ !”

The citrus fruit smacked into her left palm, and she set it down on the table, then carefully eyed the angle of her right wrist and wand. “Right, no difference. Bugger.” She set her wand down next to the orange, and took several steps back. “ _ Accio wand! _ ”

Nothing happened.

“ _ Accio wand! _ ”

Still nothing.

“Dammit.”

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

Adrian glanced over her shoulder at him. “What’s it look like?” She turned back to the table, and Harry noticed it had a napkin heaped with bagels, muffins, and far more fruit than just the orange. “ _ Accio wand! _ ”

“Looks like it twitched a little that time,” Harry said. Adrian rolled her eyes. Harry grabbed a muffin, and when this blatant theft raised no objections, took an enormous bite out of it. “You’re trying to…learn wandless magic?”

“Yeah,” Adrian said. She flopped down into a nearby chair, scooped up her wand, and summoned the much abused orange. The rind had ruptured on one side, so she dug her thumb in there to start peeling it. “Just  _ Accio _ for now. Haven’t managed it yet.”

“What was with the…” Harry held his arm out stiffly, trying to imitate the wrist movements Adrian had done while summoning the orange.

“Trying to figure out if wand angles make a difference, for the regular version,” Adrian said, dropping the bits of peel onto the table. “Doesn’t seem to, which you’d  _ think _ would mean it’d be easier to do wandlessly than, say, levitation.”

“It’s not?”

“Dunno, haven’t tried.”

Harry swallowed the last bit of muffin, and pointed his finger at a bagel. “Swish and flick,” he said with a grin, and moved his wrist like usual, pretending his pointed finger was a wand. “ _ Wingardium Leviosa! _ ”

The bagel, as bagels are wont to do, completely ignored this. Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and tried again. The bagel gently lifted into the air and hovered until he dropped it.

“Surprised you didn’t hear my volume trials,” Adrian said.

“Your what?”

“Seeing if whispers or shouts worked better,” she explained. She offered Harry half her orange.

“Why’re you doing this, anyway?” Harry asked, taking the segments of citrus. “It’s not part of OWLs, is it?”

“Nah,” Adrian said, gnashing at a bit of orange. “Got the idea there, though. Charms textbook mentioned mastering three wandless spells is the only way to get an Outstanding in NEWTs.”

“But you’re not doing NEWTs yet.”

“Yeah.” She tilted her head back, staring up at the stone ceiling above them. “You remember…Lockhart?”

It was hard to forget Gilderoy Lockhart, arguably the best-dressed and worst-qualified Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Hogwarts had had in centuries. Harry frowned; he didn’t  _ remember _ wandless magic showing up in any of Lockhart’s books. But, Adrian already said the idea came from a Charms textbook, so this was the  _ why _ …

“The Chamber,” Harry said at last. “When he was going to Obliviate all of us.” Adrian had been knocked unconscious with a stunner twice that day, and in the end it took the arrival of Dumbledore’s phoenix, Fawkes, to save them all from Lockhart’s hunger for fame.

“Yeah,” Adrian said, still staring up at the ceiling. “I mean, I’ve lost it before, like when the Weasleys stole it. But that was never…it was annoying, but I knew I’d get it back. It was just pranks. But with Lockhart, it was…yeah.”

She popped another orange segment into her mouth, talking around it. “Spent the summer going through our library, trying to find counters for Expelliarmus, wards, anything.” She grimaced. “Nothing. Just dodging, and  _ maybe _ Protego, but that one’s mostly for curses, not for getting your damn wand yanked away.”

“So…Accio,” Harry said quietly. “To get it back.”`

Adrian nodded, lips pressed tight. “No bastard is  _ ever _ disarming me again.”

A grim silence filled the room after that pronouncement. Harry cast about for a distraction. “Do you want to take this all down and go see Hagrid?” he asked, gesturing to the breakfast snacks.

“…what?”

“See Hagrid,” Harry repeated, grinning at Adrian’s confusion. “He’s pretty busy over break, actually, but if we catch him right this morning I bet we can get a cup of tea in.”

“I don’t usually get tea with teachers, you know,” Adrian said, but she’d already stood up and started folding the napkin back over the food. They bundled into their winter cloaks, Harry pulling on the warm alpaca-wool hat Adrian had sent him over the summer, and tromped down through the snow to Hagrid’s cabin. There was an explosion of barking when they knocked, and then the door burst open.

“Yeh heard?” Hagrid asked, eyes red, great tears staining his beard. Fang’s booming barks turned to whines and he wriggled past Hagrid to lick Adrian’s hand.

“Heard what?” Harry asked.

“Buckbeak!” Hagrid said, and collapsed, sobbing, onto Harry’s neck. Adrian wriggled past the same way Fang had and tugged on the back of Hagrid’s thick blue sweater to get him off Harry and into a chair.

“Mr. Hagrid, what do you mean about Buckbeak?” Adrian asked, while Harry hastily picked up the oranges, apples, and muffins he’d dropped. Hagrid gestured to a piece of parchment lying on the table, broken wax seal indicating it had been a letter, and covered his face with his hands.

Adrian scanned the letter quickly, then read it again more slowly, grim frown from earlier returning. She passed it to Harry wordlessly.

_ Dear Mr. Hagrid, _

_ Further to our inquiry into the attack by a hippogriff on a student in your class, we have accepted the assurances of Professor Dumbledore that you bear no responsibility for the regrettable incident. However, we must register our concern about the hippogriff in question. We have decided to uphold the official complaint of Mr. Lucius Malfoy, and this matter will therefore be taken to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures. The hearing will take place on April 20 _ _ th _ _ , and we ask you to present yourself and your hippogriff at the Committee’s offices in London on that date. In the meantime, the hippogriff should be kept tethered and isolated. _

It was signed by the entire Board of School Governors.

“A hearing,” Harry said, when he had finished reading. “Is that…good? Or bad?”

“Malfoy’s father brought the complaint,” Adrian said. “Which means it’s bad.”

“Would be bad brought by anyone else,” Hagrid said, finally lowering his hands, shaking his great head. “The Committee’s got it out for interestin’ creatures. He won’t even need ter bribe or threaten ‘em to decide against Buckbeak.”

“Buckbeak’s school property, isn’t he?” Adrian asked suddenly. Hagrid nodded. “Bet you sickles to sandwiches Malfoy’s doing this because the Board of Governors re-instated Dumbledore last year. He didn’t get his way then, he got kicked off the board, and now he’s throwing his weight around, proving to everyone he’s not to be taken lightly. Hogwarts keeps the Headmaster we like, Hogwarts loses a hippogriff.”

“Have you talked to Dumbledore yet?” Harry asked Hagrid, handing him a handkerchief. Hagrid blew his nose loudly.

“Headmaster’s got enough on his plate, with all those ruddy dementors around-”

“He’d want to help!” Adrian said. “We’re bringing him this letter, and then- and then- I’m writing one!” She stood up as she railed, and suddenly sat back down, surprised at her own words. “I’m writing a letter…” she said quietly, frowning at the table.

“To who?” Harry asked.

“Cousin Stephen.” Adrian ran a hand over her head. “I’m not really supposed to, I mean,  _ he’s _ not supposed to contact  _ me _ after the whole- the unfit guardian thing, but they never said I couldn’t write to  _ him _ , he just said it might be a bad idea…”

“Don’t yeh go getting in trouble now,” Hagrid said.

Adrian shook her head. “Just one letter, I just…he had a  _ really _ good attorney, and I want to know how to get a hold of him. Hogwarts has a legal fund for this sort of thing, I think. Buckbeak needs a proper defense.”

~~~

Professor Dumbledore said he would be  _ delighted _ to help, when Harry and Adrian dragged Hagrid up to his office.

“Professor Kettleburn and our Herbology professor before Pomona spoke at hearings a number of times,” Dumbledore said. “Usually transportation costs of the hearing are all the school provides, but as we have never had a hippogriff on trial before, I feel hiring a top notch legal consultant is perfectly within the fund’s parameters.”

He beamed at the three of them. “Thank you for volunteering to contact one, Miss Pucey.”

“It might take some time,” Adrian said, fidgeting a little. “I dunno where Cousin Stephen is right now.”

“We have four months,” Dumbledore said. “I am sure that will be adequate.” It was a dismissal, and after Hagrid had hugged them a great deal, the two Slytherins tromped back down to the dungeon again, still in their winter cloaks. It was as empty as they left it; no other Slytherins were staying over the break.

“What was that about ‘unfit guardian’?” Harry asked, dragging a comfier chair over to the biggest table. “Is that why your Uncle Alvie had to sign your Hogsmeade letter?”

“What? Oh, no, sorry. I always forget how much of a mess it is, from the outside.” Adrian bit her lip, then ignored Harry for a few minutes as she set up writing supplies on the table.

“Uncle Alvie’s been my legal guardian since my parents…stopped being around,” she said finally. “Head of household, actually, if any other Pucey cousins needed one he’d be their guardian too. Thing is, he’s got as much wanderlust as the rest of us, but I’m not allowed off the Isle until I’m of age. You can guess why.”

“Because...of your mum?” Harry ventured. “You said there’s charms that’ll go off if she comes back?”

“Yep.” Adrian spent a moment getting inspecting the end of her quill. “Nobody  _ said _ that was why, but there’s no other reason. Aurors think I’m bait. Idiots.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, Cousin Stephen told Uncle Alvie that he didn’t mind sticking around Dotterel for a few years to raise me. Still like to remind Cousin Brianna of that, when she gets tetchy. She wants me to behave how  _ she _ likes, well, she had two chances, and she turned them down because she can’t stand the thought of not being able to skip off to France and Italy whenever she wants.”

A very long pause now. Adrian arranged her jar of ink, spare quills, and sealing wax in a horizontal line above the parchment. Then in a vertical line next to it. When she started lining them up above it again, Harry opened his mouth to ask what happened, and Adrian burst out with “I fucked up, all right?”

“Er…”

“Mother’d been Floo’ing every Christmas, like she does here, startled the hell out of Cousin Stephen and me the first time. Stephen doesn’t like her, doesn’t like Father either really but it was  _ Christmas _ and she was my _ mother _ so he never  _ told _ anyone and I didn’t either.” Adrian flicked at her spare quills, sending them skittering across the table. “She used to call all twelve days. Like in the song. And she got away with it because no one else was  _ there _ . Dotterel’s the crash-pad for most of the family, in between jobs and trips and  _ whatever _ , but nobody’s ever home for Christmas.  Off enjoying sunshine, or up in some obscure mountain cabin you can’t even Floo to.”

Adrian summoned the quills back and flicked them away again. “But when I was nine, Cousin Cecily and Cousin Brianna came home for a bit. And I forgot to warn Mother. Christmas Eve morning, Brianna walked in on our chat and started shrieking.”

Harry winced.

“There was this  _ huge _ row,” Adrian went on. “Mother vanished right quick, and I was nine, right, I started shrieking back at Brianna. And she just ignored me, screaming a bunch of accusations at Stephen. And then Cecily walked in and wanted to know what all the fuss was about, and since she was awake now and  _ obviously _ more suited to keeping an eye on impressionable young minds, Brianna’s words, than Cousin Stephen, it meant Brianna could go off to the Ministry.”

“And you spent Christmas Eve with a house full of Aurors,” Harry surmised.

“And Christmas Day,” Adrian confirmed. “It was a zoo. This one Auror, Kirkpatrick, took me off into the kitchen while they were interviewing everyone and sat me down with a mug of cocoa-” She cut herself off. Took a deep breath. “Anyway, Cousin Stephen had been letting a wanted murderer call the same place at the same time five years in a row and never told anyone, so he was in trouble. ‘withholding information relevant to a Ministry investigation’ or something like that. Got declared an unfit guardian, can’t take care of anyone else’s kids ever, isn’t allowed to contact me directly or live in Dotterel until I’m seventeen. Other than that he got off completely; never even saw the inside of a Ministry holding cell.  _ Very _ good attorney, so of course that’s who we want for Buckbeak.”

“What happened to you, after that?” Harry asked.

“Me?” Adrian blinked. “Stayed home, of course. Cecily volunteered to watch me until I started at Hogwarts, made Brianna get me a new broom to make up for everything. Not that it did, mind, but it certainly was a distraction for the rest of the year. Mother only ever called on Christmas Day, after that, and the Aurors were staking the Floo network out now. Of course, ten-year-olds who’re mad that  _ last _ Christmas was ruined aren’t very helpful; the Aurors tried to pass themselves off as friends of Cecily’s over for the holiday, but then one of them mentioned Mother, and another one smacked him for being dumb, and so of course the moment Mother’s head appeared in the fire I let her know they were there. Bloody stupid thing to do, really, because instead of getting to tell her all about my year like usual, she kept breaking off mid-sentence to make fun of the Aurors.”

Adrian sighed. “Might’ve even caught her by now, if I hadn’t been such a little brat.”

“Or if your cousin Brianna hadn’t shrieked, and told the Ministry without letting your mother know,” Harry said. “So she’d still have called all twelve days the next year, without knowing she was being watched.”

Adrian blinked, staring at Harry as though this had never occurred to her before. Perhaps it hadn’t. After a long moment, she grabbed the sole quill that hadn’t landed on the floor, and slid the parchment closer to herself. “Anyway, help me figure out what to say to Cousin Stephen about Buckbeak.”

~~~

They produced a satisfactory letter and posted it with a school owl (“Less conspicuous than Hedwig, and she’s been back and forth to Dotterel all summer, she’s definitely been noted.”) by the time dinner rolled around. Harry was surprised how sparse the dinner crowd was; the few teacher staying over the break (and not dining in their rooms) clustered together at one end of the Head Table, and the Ravenclaw table held only two first-years.

“Where is everyone?” Harry asked Adrian, remembering there had been closer to a dozen students last year.

“Well the Weasleys’ parents are staying home this year, so they’ve all gone off,” Adrian explained. “And they’ve taken Penelope Clearwater with them, Gemma mentioned it. Feels sorry for Clearwater, doesn’t think holding hands with Percy could possibly be worth a holiday cooped up in the same house as the twins. Dunno about everyone else.”

“It’s you again!” the Ravenclaw wearing her long hair in two pigtails said, when Adrian and Harry sat down, pointing at Adrian. “You were right, it worked! Thanks.”

“Halfpint, meet Derek and Ophelia,” Adrian said. “Birdbrains, meet Harry.”

“We know who he is,” Derek said. “Colin talks about him all the time.”

Adrian grinned as Harry fought not to cover his face in his hands. “What was it that worked, for what?” he asked instead, just as the food appeared on the table.

“Impervius,” Derek said, piling mashed potatoes onto his plate.

“Peeves dumped a bajillion pounds of snow on us!” Ophelia said, waving her arms. “Right in the entrance hall! We couldn’t dig ourselves out to go eat!”

“It wasn’t a bajillion, that isn’t a quantifiable number,” Derek said.

“You sure?” Adrian asked. “Coulda sworn I saw it on someone’s Arithmancy homework.”

“…I’ll have to check,” Derek said. Adrian winked at Ophelia, who giggled.

With only four students in the castle, it quickly became habit to spend the whole day either in the Great Hall playing chess and card games, or out in the snow. Derek wanted to build a miniature Hogwarts, which turned out to be too ambitious a goal; the largest towers and main body remained the same, but the crenelations, smaller towers, and bridges between sections changed daily. They did finish a very nice snow replica of one eastern Astronomy tower though, and Ophelia gave it an ice-slide instead of its usual bridge to the other tower.

Most conversations (outside of “Ha! Checkmate!” and “Roll me another brick, would you?”) concerned the stories Colin had passed on about Harry and Hermione.

“Did you two really fight a mountain troll your first year?” Derek asked on Christmas Eve.

“ _ Hermione _ fought a mountain troll,” Harry said. “After it knocked me out. You know Wingardium Leviosa?”

“We’re excellent at it!” Ophelia said, and promptly made all their dinner plates (thankfully clear of everything but crumbs by now) fly up, do a short lap above their heads, and come down.

“She used that to drop its club on its head,” Harry explained.

“How would you know, if you were knocked out?” Derek asked.

“Because McGonagall saw it,” Adrian said. “And she told Flitwick, because Granger learned it in his class, and some students overheard, and that means it got all over the school.” She noticed Ophelia yawning. “Better get off to bed. If we all stay up, Father Christmas won’t come.”

“Surprised wizards don’t have something else,” Harry said, as they parted ways with the Ravenclaws in the entrance hall. “Boxing Day Owl maybe.”

“Some families tell their kids Father Christmas is actually Merlin,” Adrian said with a grin. She ruffled his hair. “Does that count?”


	10. You've Got the Talking Down

Angry shouting roused Harry late Christmas morning. He rolled out of bed and looked around wildly, but he was quite alone in the third-year boys’ dormitory.  _ Just a dream _ . He shook his head and turned back to the bed, thrilled as he was every year at Hogwarts by the small pile of presents there. Hagrid sent a hippogriff-feather quill (“From Beaky’s molt last year!” the note said), Hermione sent a box of Chocolate Frogs (Harry had ordered a history book from Flourish & Blott’s and put the Grangers’ address down on the form; hopefully it had arrived on time), and the Weasleys, to Harry’s surprise, sent a thick, emerald green sweater (“Merry Christmas Harry, best wishes from all of us at the Burrow”).

Harry changed quickly out of his pajamas and tugged the sweater on over his robes. It was wonderfully warm, and just big enough that he had to roll the sleeves up, but didn’t feel like he was swimming in it. He ambled into the tunnel back to the common room, grinning and running his hands up and down the knit sleeves, right in time to hear the next angry shout.

“ _ I DON’T CARE IF I FALL OFF MY BROOM AND BREAK EVERY DAMN BONE IN MY BODY AND THE HEALERS PUT ME BACK TOGETHER SO WRONG I CAN NEVER FLY AGAIN, I AM NEVER, EVER,  _ **_EVER_ ** _ GOING TO WORK FOR THE FUCKING MINISTRY! _ ”

Harry stumbled. Not a dream, then. Adrian talking to her mum. Wasn’t their chat usually over by now? Harry almost slipped back into the dorm to check his water-clock, to see if he’d misread it.

“ _ Coaching IS a reliable second career! Why can’t you admit that?” _

Instead he padded silently along the tunnel, stopping at the edge of the shadow, just close enough to listen to both halves of the conversation. It wasn’t that hard now, even with the fireplace halfway across the common room from him.

“You know what I think, Mother? I think you  _ know  _ Quidditch is a real career, I think you don’t care how  _ stable _ a Ministry job is, you just want me to spy for you like Father!”

“Adrian that is ENOUGH! Don’t you dare speak about your father that way, he stood by his principles-”

“I never said he didn’t, don’t put words in my mouth-”

“Then don’t run it without thinking!”

“You’re the one who isn’t thinking!”

“What’s gotten into you, sweetheart?” Mrs. Pucey asked, voice changing from loud and sharp to low and soft, like a gale turning to a breeze. Harry could barely hear her now. “This isn’t like you.”

“You don’t know what I’m like,” Adrian spat.

There was a long silence, and then a deep sigh. “…this is about my leaving, isn’t it?”

Adrian didn’t answer.

Mrs. Pucey sighed again. “Dearest, we’ve been over this. If I’d stayed, I’d be in Azkaban with your father, and you wouldn’t have  _ either _ of us. And that’s unacceptable.”

“I’d have  _ both _ of you if you’d picked the right side,” Adrian said, voice cracked and warbling.

“It wasn’t about  _ sides _ ,” Mrs. Pucey said, tone sharpening once more. “It was about principles, about righting wrongs, about taking back our future-”

“ _ THEN LET ME  _ **_HAVE_ ** _ A FUTURE! _ ”

“ . . . ”

“Please,” Adrian said. “Let me have this. I’m  _ good _ at Quidditch. I’m  _ really _ good. I’m…when I’m up there, I’m…it’s everything.”

“Everything,” Mrs. Pucey echoed back dryly.

“Everything! It’s cold and hot and fast and slow and I can feel everyone else on the pitch with me, every change in the wind, and the rain, by Igraine I could be soaked to the bone and all I feel is  _ alive _ . Didn’t you ever…you’ve felt like that, I  _ know _ you have.”

A long silence.

“Please-”

“Asking people to aim boulders at your skull is not a  _ future _ .”

“Oh, mother _ fucker! _ ”

“Don’t use that language with me young woman-”

“You’d rather I used Latin? I can’t dump water on you in Anglo-Saxon-”

“We both know if you were going to do that this year you’d have done it already.”

Harry’s fingers were hopelessly tangled in his sleeves now. He  _ really _ ought to try and sneak back to his dorm, he shouldn’t be listening to this.

“You think so?” Adrian asked lightly.

“Adrian-”

“ _ Aguamenti _ .”

A loud hiss filled the common room, and a great deal of steam. Adrian stomped away from the hearth just in time to see Harry take one awkward step backwards. She rolled her eyes and snorted.

“Nice jumper.”

“It’s very warm,” Harry said. He wrenched his fingers free and stepped forward tentatively, trying to ignore the gaping holes he’d worked into the snug stitches. “I guess I’m a Weasley now. For Christmas I mean, since the real ones aren’t here this year.”

“Whatever will we do without their woolen presence?” Adrian asked. It was the last thing she said for the rest of the day. Derek and Ophelia didn’t notice; they were overwhelmed by the Hogwarts Christmas Feast. Boisterous wizarding crackers were enough to bowl over anyone the first time, but with not only Flitwick, McGonagall, Sprout, and Filch at the same table as the students, but Dumbledore himself, the tiny Ravenclaws were overawed. Their distraction only grew when Professor Trelawney joined them as well (she distracted Harry too; the sheer number of shawls and bangles draping her made Harry itch to sketch).

Adrian was back to a louder, faster, more energetic version of her usual self on Boxing Day, and the frantic mood persisted until the rest of the school returned. By then they’d completed a snow version of the second Eastern Astronomy tower, and converted Ophelia’s ice-slide into a functional bridge between the two. It wasn’t  _ accurate _ , to Derek’s frustration, because the real bridge kept shifting between levels when they weren’t looking.

~~~

Harry’s first real chance for a proper conversation with Hermione after break ended was Care of Magical Creatures. He didn’t bring up Sirius Black, or Peter Pettigrew, or Secret Keeping. Hagrid was in a good mood, teaching them about salamanders instead of flobberworms, and Hermione was having so much fun finding kindling to keep the fire going that Harry didn’t want to mention sad things. Instead he told her about building snow and ice sculptures, about giving Derek and Ophelia clues for the castle’s secret passages, about teaching them the Bluebell Flames charm.

“They really admire you, you know,” Harry said, watching a salamander devour a twig. “The older Ravenclaws memorized Snape’s potion-bottle riddle after you told them, back in first year. They’ve turned it into a game.”

“No!” Hermione gasped in delight.

“They did!” Harry grinned. “Except instead of poison or nettle-wine it’s bubble-juice and butterbeer, and they’ve got what it  _ would’ve _ been written on the bottom of the bottle. Ophelia solved it after Halloween and spent November blowing bubbles out the window.”

Hermione giggled. “I’ve heard some of the first year Gryffindors pretending to be you, sometimes.”

“What?”

“Mm-hm.” Hermione nodded. “Though I don’t remember you  _ punching _ your way past McGonagall’s giant chess set.”

Harry must’ve been standing too close to the bonfire, because his face suddenly grew very hot. He quickly changed the topic. “Did I tell you about Buckbeak’s trial, yet?”

“Trial?” Hermione asked, brows knitting together, and Harry could  _ kick _ himself. He was trying to be cheerful!

“Wrong word, it’s a hearing, really, and we’re getting help.” He rummaged in his pocket for the letter Adrian had gotten that morning from her cousin’s attorney. “The Board of Governors’ cleared Hagrid, so we don’t have to worry about  _ that _ , but now we’ve got to prove Buckbeak isn’t dangerous. C’mon, I’m supposed to pass this along.”

“We’d better do some research,” Hermione said, as they stepped away from the bonfire to find Hagrid. The gears were already turning in her head, and she was tapping her fingers together, counting an invisible list of likely library books. “You never know what might help.”

~~~

Everyone thought Harry had to concentrate to sketch, which meant they’d stopped worrying about him listening in on private conversations months ago. Sketching did take concentration, but not consistent  _ amounts _ , and almost never as much as he needed to play chess. Harry’d accumulated a pretty impressive amount of information on his housemates before Christmas break just from incidental eavesdropping.

For instance, he knew that Vincent and Gregory weren’t actually playing chess over there in the corner; they’d talked their respective sets into acting as checkers, instead, which was why one of Vincent’s pawns was balanced on top of a rook right now. He also knew Pansy didn’t have her own set, because she kept borrowing other students’.  _ And _ Draco was quick to volunteer his set, when Pansy started eyeing Vincent and Gregory’s, which must mean that Draco knew about the checkers thing.

Harry knew sixth-year Zubeida Khan got jigsaw puzzles for Hanukkah every year because she’d  _ loved _ them as a little kid, and her relatives kept forgetting that a bout of Dragon Pox when she was ten made her loathe them. Zubeida gave one of this year’s to Cole Spencer; he copied her history notes out legibly so Nerys Orpington could crib off them; Nerys was the best in sixth-year at combining Bathilda Bagshot’s  _ A History of Magic _ with Binn’s lectures into something  _ interesting _ for everyone else, but couldn’t stay awake during class. Zubeida was keeping another puzzle in reserve for “something worth my  _ time _ , Mildred, I don’t  _ care _ about Xylomancy.”

Tonight Harry was hoping to hear something to help Daphne stay in their study group, but she beat him to it.

“Guess who’s rat-sitting this summer,” she said, sitting down primly on the round, olive-green ottoman next to him (it was still twice its usual height from Gideon Scalby’s transfigurations practice yesterday).

“Um…you?” Harry guessed.

“No, Astoria,” Daphne said. “She’s still got our old puffskein terrarium and actually  _ likes _ taking care of fuzzy little things, so I’ve asked her to watch Theo’s rat for me.”

“You still haven’t said what I owe you for this,” Theodore said nervously, having trailed along behind Daphne. He stood next to the ottoman, petting Leofflaed.

“You’re going to study with me in the library every Monday night,” Daphne said. Harry grinned. Excellent. Anyone spying on them would assume Theodore was there for Daphne, and Daphne was there for Theodore, rather than Hermione.

Theodore wrinkled his nose, an expression that gave him a striking resemblance to the rat in his hands. “Isn’t that when you’re hanging out with that know-it-all Granger?”

“Don’t call her that,” Harry said.

“And don’t call her anything Pansy calls her either,” Daphne added quickly, since Theodore looked ready to say more. “You don’t even have to talk to us, or even study if you don’t want to, just  _ be _ at our table.”

“Fine,” Theodore sighed. He rolled his eyes and left.

Harry leaned closer to Daphne. “Why’s he even  _ need _ a rat-sitter?”

“He’s not supposed to have pets,” Daphne said, very quietly. “He trained that little butterball to hide in his robes whenever grown-ups come by, but his dad  _ still _ nearly caught her over break. I heard him telling Draco about it.”

“Oh, they’re talking again?”

Daphne nodded. “Draco  _ almost _ said yes, but his dad keeps peacocks and they’re  _ vicious _ , so I volunteered.”

“You mean you volunteered your sister.”

“Same thing,” Daphne said, with a toss of her hair. “I’ll wind up feeding it and cleaning the terrarium while she just plays with it anyway, like when we had puffskeins.”

~~~

A little before seven o’clock Monday night, Harry, Terence, Adrian, and the other fifth-year prefect, Olivia Shardlow, slipped away from the Slytherin table as dinner was wrapping up, and made their way to Professor Lupin’s classroom. They met the other prefects along the way, Harry earning some odd looks for his presence, and sidled into the classroom at precisely seven. Lupin was leaning against his desk. 

“Excellent, I see everyone is here,” Lupin said. He’d stacked the desks along one side of the classroom, and arranged the chairs in a circle. “Please sit for now.” After a quick roll-call he launched into a speech about dementor’s nearly identical to the one he had given Harry.

“Any questions so far?” Lupin asked.

One of the Ravenclaw prefects, Miyuki Tsuji, raised her hand. “When they came into our train compartment, I felt like you said, that there wasn’t anything happy left in me. But when they were gone I felt better right quick, but one of the other girls in my compartment acted like she had the flu until we got to the feast, and a boy next to me at the Quidditch match started shaking when they showed up.” Harry caught the other students glancing at him while Tsuji spoke, and kept his eyes firmly fixed on Lupin.

“The degree to which a dementor effects any one individual is based on multiple factors,” Lupin said. “How much effort is the dementor giving? Are they passively sucking away happiness, leaving a low-level misery, or purposely, actively stealing energy? Or worst of all, administering their Kiss?” Some of the students shuddered, though others frowned in confusion.

“The number of dementors is important as well. The ones on the train were briefly sucking happiness from each room, trying to find Black’s emotional…flavor, is probably the best term, as they do not possess human vision. Whereas the ones at the match were passively absorbing the crowd’s energy, but in such mass numbers it effected everyone very hard. Lastly, an individual’s life experience has an effect.” He looked at each student in turn as he spoke, holding eye contact briefly. “Did any of you suddenly remember something sad from your childhood, perhaps a beloved pet dying, or doing poorly on a test you worked hard for?”

“I remembered my first owl dying,” Toby Lennox, a Gryffindor prefect, said.

“When dementors steal positive emotions, negative ones are drawn up to fill the void,” Lupin explained. “Not just emotions, but the memories attached to them will surface as well. The worse experiences someone has had, the worse the effects of the dementor.”

“What about the Kiss, then?” Olivia asked. “There’s nothing left after that, is there? Not even sadness?”

“No,” Lupin said. “There are no emotions, or memories, or anything, after a dementor removes their victim’s soul.”

Oh. That explained the shudder, then.

“That’s debatable,” Terence said, crossing his arms.

“Pardon?” Lupin blinked at him.

“Well, we don’t even know if souls are real,” Terence said. Several of the other prefects looked at him in alarm. “The dementor’s do  _ something _ , when they clamp down on a victim’s mouth, and it sure looks like they’ve taken out emotions and memories, and the ability to form  _ new _ memories, based on the pensieve experiments that used to get done on victims, before Azkaban was opened.”

“And the legilimantic therapy,” Tsuji chimed in.

“Right, that,” Terence said, nodding a thanks for the reminder. “But is it really the soul that’s gone, if it was even there? Or are they sucking out some part of the brain?”

“I don’t know,” Lupin said, eyeing Terence appraisingly. “But I believe you’ve found the topic of your Defense Against the Dark Arts NEWT essay, when the time comes.” He nodded approvingly. “That covers what we’re fighting  _ against _ . Now, does anyone have any guesses as to how one defends themselves from a dementor?”

“Protego?” Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff prefect, suggested.

“The Cheering Charm!” the other Ravenclaw prefect, Noel Harwich, exclaimed, snapping his fingers.

“Crossbow bolt,” Gryffindor Kaori Shimizu said. “So they never get close.”

“That has been tried,” Lupin said dryly, raising a brow at the Gryffindor’s suggestion. “But while some wards may keep dementors out of a physical place, no regular physical  _ attack _ has ever worked on them.”

“Bugger,” Shimizu muttered, and Lupin pretended not to hear.

“The first two guesses are actually correct, in combination,” Lupin said. Diggory and Harwich grinned at each other. “The most effective defense against dementors acts as a shield of cheer, if you will. The castor draws on a joyful memory, and creates a projection of positive emotions to act as a barrier between themselves and the dementor. If strong enough, it may actually chase the dementor away. This projection is called a Patronus, and is summoned with the incantation ‘Expecto Patronum’.”

The class repeated the phrase back in unison, and Lupin smiled approvingly. “Excellent. The wandwork is fairly superfluous; typically castors point their wand-tip  _ at _ the dementors, but I have seen it work just as well, or just as badly, pointed upwards, down, and even behind one’s back. Or at the end of a long sweeping gesture, or a short jab. I believe, though have been unable to confirm so  _ please _ take this with a grain of salt, that the wand motion works best if it helps you channel your positive emotions.”

He had them get out of the chairs now, and arranged them in a line along the same well as the desks, aiming their wands at the empty far wall.

“Today we’ll try to cast without a target,” Lupin said. “If done correctly, a silver figure will appear from your wand, so don’t be startled. Most people only manage a silver mist, and need to keep recasting until help arrives. A strong enough patronus, however, will take the form of an animal, and remain summoned until dismissed.”

“What animal?” Tsuji asked.

“It’s different for everyone,” Lupin said. “Now, please think of a very happy memory, and when you are ready…”

It was chaotic, for the first ten minutes, as everyone called out  _ Expecto Patronum! _ at different times, with a multitude of gestures, and a variety of volumes. Harry tried to focus on a happy memory, but it was difficult to concentrate with all the noise. Winning a Quidditch match? His first win was tied up with sudden pain in his arm from the rogue Bludger, but the second one was good. He had made everyone forget he was even in the pitch, right until the very end. He thought of his hand closing around the Snitch, the beat of its wings against his fingers, and the cheers of his housemates.

“ _ Expecto Patronum! _ ”

A tiny smudge of silver light spat out the end of his wand, and promptly vanished. He closed his eyes and focused on the memory. Seeing Cho Chang out of the corner of his eye, racing towards the Snitch as he reached for it. Being buried in hugs. Waving to Hermione from the jubilant crowd.

“ _ Expecto Patronum! _ ”

Just as he pointed his wand at the wall, the rest of the match shoved itself into his head; Hootch’s whistle blowing as both sides committed fouls. The jeers of the other houses when Slytherin stepped onto the field. Hermione fretting that he’d be attacked by another rogue Bludger. Not even the barest hint of a silver appeared this time.

Maybe he needed a happier memory.

“All right everyone, pause!” Lupin called out, clapping his hands once. Everyone lowered their wands and looked at him. “You’ve all got the incantation down, but I’m seeing some worried faces. Who’s having trouble focusing on a happy memory?”

There was a smattering of raised hands; Tsuji, Lennox, and all the Slytherins. Lupin nodded to himself. “Associated memories getting in the way?” The hands stayed up.

“Or it doesn’t seem so great now,” Adrian muttered.

“Your thoughts are getting in the way of the emotions,” Lupin explained. “It’s hard to focus on how happy you were when you, say, got your first owl,” he nodded to Lennox. “When you also remember what happened to them. Or feel the joy of Christmas morning, when you learned later what your parents sacrificed to get you that new broom or racing bike. But your patronus doesn’t need to know all that. The dementors will provide plenty of negativity. Focus on how you felt  _ then _ , not how you feel  _ now _ . Does that make sense?”

Everyone nodded. Lupin smiled. “All right, let’s try it all together this time. When I count to three…”

By the end of the class, an hour or so later, everyone had produced at least slip of silver mist, if briefly. Lupin was positively beaming.

“ _ Excellent _ work, everyone,” he said. “I think we’ll be ready to try it on a target, next class.”

“You’re not marching us down to the gates to shout at the dementors there, are you?” Hufflepuff Madeline Ormskirk asked nervously.

Lupin shook his head. “No, no, we’ll be here.”

~~~

That Saturday saw Slytherin’s first match of the season, against Ravenclaw. Lee Jordan of Gryffindor was recovering from a nasty cold he’d gotten over Christmas break, leaving him too hoarse to commentate. A very impartial Hufflepuff got the job instead, and dutifully called out who had the Quaffle, what foul Hooch was blowing the whistle for  _ this _ time, who had made the most recent goal, and what score this meant. The very first line of commentary though, was to announce every player’s name as they walked onto the field.

“ _ Peregrine Derrick?! _ ” Adrian roared, when the Slytherin team strolled into the pitch. “Marcus brought back  _ that IDIOT? _ ”

“I was expecting you to rage over Warrington, to be honest,” Yurika Haneda said. She sat on Adrian’s other side from Harry, and had enchanted green and grey stripes onto her black winter cloak for the match. “I mean, he’s such a terrible Chaser.”

“I already knew about him,” Adrian said dismissively. “ _ Ugh _ . And Derrick and Bole are awful at anything other than Beating, so Graham’s been shuffled into-  _ Chaser? What _ ?”

“Looks like Terence is the new Keeper,” Harry said, as the teams kicked off and Terence zoomed away for the Slytherin goal posts. “And Malfoy is Seeker. Fantastic.”

“I can’t believe Marcus would take Terence off Chasing,” Adrian said. “I mean, the only person on the whole team who’s better than him is-”

“You?” Yurika said dryly.

“Well, yeah.” Adrian slumped back in her seat, crossing her arms, eyes glued to the Quaffle despite her rage. “He could have at least kept Malfoy as Keeper. Terence’s better at Chasing then Seeking, but he’s still  _ good _ at both. Won us the Quidditch Cup two years ago. How much time has Malfoy even had to practice?”

Terence wasn’t a  _ bad _ Keeper, but he certainly wasn’t Oliver Wood. The Ravenclaw Chasers were miles above Graham and Cassius, and despite all the fouling, even Marcus couldn’t best them. The fouls, in fact, had been factored in by the Ravenclaws, like Adrian warned Marcus; Terence couldn’t block  _ every _ penalty shot, try as he might. Slytherin scraped in a victory through sheer luck when Draco spotted the Snitch while Cho Chang was still reeling from a Bludger.

“Ten points,” Adrian muttered as they trooped down the stairs after the match. “We win by  _ ten points _ . Didn’t score a single goal. That was the most embarrassing match I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“A win is a win!” Pansy said from behind them.

“True,” Adrian said, but she didn’t sound like she believed it right now. Pansy pushed past them to go congratulate Draco. Adrian and Harry stepped to the side at the bottom of the stands, and waited for Terence to come find them.

“I hate playing Keeper,” Terence said in a low voice once he had shaken off Marcus’s lecture about blocking better and slipped through the crowd towards them. “Hate it. No wonder Malfoy wanted out, this is terrible, everyone’s watching you dodge a Bludger and let the damn Quaffle through, it’s worse than trying to make a goal and hitting the damn post. Dunno how Wood does it.”

“You weren’t too bad,” Adrian said. “Bole and Derrick should’ve been watching out for you more, I saw them trying to bodyguard the Chasers too much. You’re better at blocking Quaffles coming in from the left, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Terence said. He glanced back towards the rest of the team. “I gotta get my broom away. You two better wait for me, I think if I have to walk back with the rest of the team I’m gonna kill the captain.”

“We’ll definitely ditch you, then,” Adrian said with a grin.

~~~

When everyone arrived for the second patronus class, Professor Lupin was once more leaning against his desk. There was a heavily battered suitcase sitting atop it, which rattled as they entered the room. The desks and chairs had been left in place from the regular Defense classes earlier that day.

“All here again, I see,” Lupin said. “Follow me, please.” He grabbed the handle of the rattling suitcase, along with a large burlap sack sitting on the floor, and strode from the room. The bewildered fifth-years (and Harry) trailed along behind, until he stepped into the empty choir hall.

“I’ve gotten permission from Flitwick to use this hall for the rest of our lessons,” Lupin said, setting both sack and suitcase down at the conductor’s podium. “The Toad Choir doesn’t meet on Mondays, which was a stroke of luck for us. Now, would everyone line up over  _ there _ ,” he pointed to the back of the hall, “and do their best to cast the Patronus Charm a few times?”

Once Lupin was satisfied that everyone remembered the words, and could produce at least a little silver mist, he beckoned Harry to come over to the podium.

“I told you all that this week we would cast at a  _ target _ , and I am pleased to say my search for one was a success,” Lupin said. “In a castle as old and vast it was bound to be, but, well…inside this suitcase is a boggart. And as all of you know by now, because it was on your last quiz, boggarts take on the shape of our worst fears.” He rapped his knuckles on the suitcase. “Harry is wisely afraid of fear itself, and when the third-years began the fall term, his boggart manifested as a dementor.”

There was a murmur of  _ oh’s _ from the older students. Harry shuffled awkwardly, feeling rather put on the spot.

“This is a stroke of luck for us,” Lupin said. “Because as long as Harry is, hm, I believe twice as close to the boggart as everyone else, it should remain a dementor, giving us ample practice. So, Harry, please stand  _ here _ ,” he positioned Harry some ten feet from the podium, a bit to the left of everyone else so they would all have a clear shot at the suitcase. “And I will stand here,” Lupin took up a position halfway between Harry and the others. “And if everyone has a happy memory to focus on, we’ll start. Harry, whenever you’re ready.”

Harry took a deep breath. A happy memory. Happier than winning at Quidditch. He thought of that summer, running into friends in Diagon Alley, eating sundaes at Florean Fortescue’s. He tried to feel the summer sun on his back, the cool ice cream. “I’m ready.”

Lupin magicked open the suitcase, and the boggart rose from it, the lights of the choir hall dimming cold creeping into Harry.

“ _ Expecto patronum! _ ” he yelled, along with nine other voices. “ _ Expecto patronum! _ ” The silvery mist from everyone dissolved as it approached the dementor-boggart. Harry heard a rattling inhale as it stepped closer, and then the voices-

_ “Not Harry, please, not Harry! Please- I’ll do anything!” _

_ “Stand aside. Stand aside, girl.” _

“Oy, pipsqueak!”

Harry blinked up at Adrian’s concerned face. The choir room lights were back on. Harry blearily sat up. Professor Lupin handed him a square of chocolate, and then passed the burlap sack it had come from around the students. Adrian, pale but not shaking this time, helped Harry stand.

“You all right?” Adrian asked quietly. Terence was patting Lennox the Gryffindor on the back, and the two Hufflepuff prefects were already practicing the Patronus Charm again. Harry could see sweat glistening on everyone’s faces, from the effort of casting the spell against a real target. Harry quickly wiped the sweat from his own face with one sleeve of his robes.

“I’m fine,” Harry said.

“Perhaps we shouldn’t do that again tonight,” Lupin said, even more quietly than Adrian. Half of the prefects were casting Harry concerned, pitying looks.

“I’m  _ fine _ ,” Harry said louder, though it came out a bit mangled through his mouthful of chocolate. “I can go again!”

“We’re going to take a five minute break,” Lupin announced to the class. “I want everyone to pick a new memory this time. Remember, no matter what has happened  _ since _ then, think about how you felt  _ at the time _ . When have you been happiest?”

Harry ate another square of chocolate and thought furiously. When had he been happiest? Probably some memory  _ older _ than his parents dying, but he didn’t think he could summon one of those up. Not anything at the Dursleys’. Well, maybe letting the boa constrictor out. Oh! He thought about the grass snakes that lived in the greenhouse, not a single memory, but all the little things. Warm grass. Feeling hidden,  _ safe _ , in the bushes. The privilege of being shown a nest.

“Ready?”

The suitcase burst open again.

“ _ Expecto patronum! Expecto patronum!” _

Everything was going gray-

_ “Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off-” Stumbling footsteps. A sound of wrenched wood as a door burst open. That high cold laugh- _

“ _ EXPECTO PATRONUM! _ ”

A large silvery shape flashed past Harry, almost disc-like. The dementor-boggart halted its forward glide.

“ _ EXPECTO PATRONUM!” _ Another silver shape flashed by, sort of triangular, like a wide-winged paper airplane. The prefects were still chorusing “ _ Expecto patronum! _ ” and as the disc and triangle dissolved, the little wisps arrived. Harry took in a deep breath, tried to conjure up sunshine, but despite the light coming back he still felt cold, and couldn’t focus.

_ “Not Harry, please!” _

“ _ Riddikulus! _ ”

Lupin darted past him and forced the boggart, now a silver orb, back into the suitcase. He slammed the lid shut, and turned back around, beaming.

“Well  _ done _ , everyone!” He passed the sack of chocolate around again. Harry realized that he’d managed to only sit down rather heavily on the floor, this time, instead of fainting all the way. Adrian and Terence sat down next to him, munching on chocolate.

“You look terrible,” Terence said laconically, giving Harry an appraising eye. “Worse this time?”

“I heard my dad,” Harry blurted out, and immediately felt like an idiot. He jammed the chocolate into his mouth, hoping none of the other students had heard. He realized there were tears mingled in with the sweat now, which Terence must have noticed. Harry scrubbed awkwardly at his face.

“You heard James?” Lupin asked, blinking down at Harry. Then he abruptly walked off to make sure the other students were eating their chocolate.

“If hearing your dad surprised you, what’s it usually?” Terence asked, curious. Adrian reached past Harry to shoved Terence’s shoulder hard. “What?”

“It’s usually my mum screaming for Voldemort not to kill me, and him laughing at her,” Harry said flatly.

“Oh.” Terence thought for a moment. “No wonder you keep fainting.”

“Didn’t this time though,” Adrian said proudly, ruffling Harry’s hair.

“That was the last round for tonight!” Lupin called out, gathering up the sack and suitcase, which was rattling angrily once more. “Remember, come straight here next class, we won’t be changing rooms after this.”

~~~

After Defense Against the Dark Arts on Wednesday, when the next period was lunch, Harry took a long time packing up his quill and inkpot and sketchbook, making sure everyone else was out the door before sliding sideways out of his seat and walking nervously up to Professor Lupin’s desk.

“Professor Lupin?” 

“Yes, Harry?”

“On Monday, you said ‘James’. Did you know my dad?”

“We…we were friends at Hogwarts,” Lupin said. He finished tidying his papers, and leaned against the desk.

“Can you tell me about him?” Harry blurted out. He rushed on before Lupin could say ‘no’ or run away again. “Because everyone just says he and my mum were brave, and good, and Head Boy and Girl, but no one really tells me what they were  _ like _ .”

“Did your aunt never…?” Lupin trailed off, looking a bit stunned by Harry’s rush of words, far more than usually came out at once.

“All she ever said was that they died in a car crash,” Harry said. “Did, did you know my mum too, then, if you know about Aunt Petunia?”

“Yes.” Lupin thought for a moment, taking deep breath and leaning back further. “Do you know the Weasley twins?” he asked. “They’re in fifth year, Gryffindor, so you might not-”

“I was on the Quidditch team last year,” Harry said. “So, yeah, I know them. Mean aim with a Beater’s bat.”

“What did you play?” Lupin asked.

“Seeker.”

“James was a Chaser,” Lupin said, and smiled as Harry’s face lit up. “James was like them really, as I’m sure McGonagall and Flitwick, having had to teach them as well as him, could tell you. A bit more dangerous in our earlier years, actually. Liked a laugh, and didn’t always know when it was too far. Lily thought he was a right nuisance, until our last few years when he got better at telling.”

“Why?” Harry asked. He didn’t think any of the Gryffindors  _ really _ thought the Weasley twins were nuisances, much as Percy complained.

“Her best friend was in Slytherin,” Lupin said, to Harry’s surprise. “I suppose it’s a bit like you and Hermione, really. James and her friend could never let the house rivalry thing go, and she yelled at both of them for it quite a bit.” He looked suddenly awkward. “Had a falling out with her friend, though, our fifth year. Horrible blow up. They never spoke again.”

“That’s too bad,” Harry said, feeling a surge of sadness for his mum. He thought of not speaking to Hermione ever again, and got a knot in his stomach.

“I got the impression their fight was actually a last straw, for Lily,” Lupin said delicately. “She was a very principled person, and her friend…wasn’t. Or maybe just had too different principles.”

“If Dad took jokes too far,” Harry said. “And Mum thought he was a nuisance, and stopped talking to a friend over...over principles, why’d she marry my dad?”

“Well he  _ did _ learn the difference between laughing at someone and laughing with them, eventually,” Lupin said, grinning. “Something I think the Weasley twins may still be struggling with. Filch read me a list of some of their misdeeds, when I mentioned their antics in my class where he could hear me. Took an hour to make excuses and get away.”

Harry laughed, and Lupin’s grin grew. “James  _ was _ brave, like you’ve been told, and when he  _ realized _ something was dangerous, no one was quicker to jump in and save the day. That first lesson, when you pulled Theodore away from the boggart? It was something James would have done.”

Harry felt a swell of pride at the comparison, and a twist of sadness.  _ Lily, take Harry and go! I’ll hold him off! _ He blinked back a few tears, and gulped before asking his next question.

“Did you know them after Hogwarts, too?” Harry asked.

Lupin hesitated for a moment. “I…did, but…it’s not exactly a time I like to dwell on.”

“The war,” Harry guessed. He scuffed his shoe against the floor. “Sorry if I-”

“It’s all right,” Lupin said. “You’d better get to lunch, though. I’ve got to get things set up for the next class.” He gestured to the terrarium next to his desk. “No rest for the wicked.”


	11. Kissing Death and Losing My Breath

F.E. Shunpike, attorney _suum in magica_ , arrived the first Sunday of February and spent his entire walk from the campus gates to Hagrid’s hut enthusiastically discussing the proper care of crups, and admiring Fang’s boundless energy. Harry, Hermione, and Adrian hurried down from breakfast for the meeting and waited in an awkward row just outside Hagrid’s door. Shunpike broke off mid-sentence when he caught sight of them.

“It’s Steph’s greenbean then, innit?” Shunpike said, sticking out a hand for Adrian to shake. Fang leaned heavily against his side, tail wagging. “Said you’s on a warpath, ‘ee did. Good. Who’s the cavalry ‘ere then?”

“Harry Potter and Hermione Granger,” Adrian said, and Shunpike shook each of their hands in turn. Harry studied him carefully. He was an odd mix of old and young; his hair was going grey, and the lines of his face put him somewhere in late middle age, yet he had as terrible a case of acne as poor Eloise Midgen.

“ ‘Arry Potter, eh?” Shunpike said. “Might be ‘elpful, that. And this one’s come with books, good.”

“I’ve been looking for similar cases,” Hermione said, clutching the stack of books to her chest, their many bookmarks bristling. Shunpike beamed at her, and Hagrid got everyone inside and put the kettle on. Shunpike slouched in the stiff-backed wooden chair with as poor posture as Adrian. Everything about him seemed soft and slumping; the older, comfortably-worn brown material of his robes, the line of his shoulders, even the acne now they were out of the strong winter sunlight. The only sharp thing were his eyes, watching first Hagrid, then Hermione, and finally Harry himself as they each told their account of events that fateful first day of Care of Magical Creatures.

“Cut and dried, innit?” Shunpike said, tapping his chin, after Harry wrapped up. “Little nit don’t listen to the teacher, gets hurt. Coulda happened in Potions, coulda happened in old McGonagall’s class. She’s still teaching, right?” He addressed this last question to Adrian.

“McGonagall?” she asked, blinking. “Yeah. But you can’t execute a potion for blowing up in someone’s face, or a teacup for shattering.”

“Just blame the teacher for startin’ ‘em on something too dangerous,” Shunpike said. “And ‘Agrid’s already been cleared of that, you said.”

“I should never’ve started ‘em with hippogriffs,” Hagrid said, shaking his head. “If they’d sack me and leave Beaky alone-”

“ ‘ere now, none o’ that!” Shunpike said, straightening up in alarm.

“It wasn’t your fault, Hagrid!” Harry said. Adrian slid the original notice from the school governors across the table the attorney.

“You can’t blame yourself at the hearing,” Shunpike said emphatically, barely glancing at the notice. “We won’t have no case if you do that! I’m walkin’ now if yor giving up already.  Look mate, say it wit’ me now, a’ight? It’s not your fault, it’s not Buckbeak’s fault.” His accent changed during the last sentence, sounding like the newscastors and politicians Harry saw on the Dursleys’ telly.

“It’s not my fault,” Shunpike repeated, and this time Hagrid said it along with him. “It’s not Buckbeak’s fault.” Hagrid was much firmer sounding for that part. “I gave a safety warning. No students were required to enter the paddock. All direct interaction with the hippogriff herd was voluntary.”

“And I can’t find any instance of Hogwarts instituting an age-limit _beyond_ waiting until third year for Care of Magical Creatures,” Hermione said, once they had finished. “I’ve got Professor Kettleburn’s old records, and he’s changed which creatures were taught to each year dozens of times!”

Shunpike’s sharp eyes lit up; he gestured for Hermione to hand him her notes. While she rifled through her stack for the relevant parchment, Adrian gave Shunpike a very intent look.

“Better organize than Steph, tha’s fer sure,” Shunpike said, once Hermione passed over a bit of parchment (covered in neat, tiny handwriting). “Always has his own damn system, rubbish for everyone else.”

“ _Igraine’s bony knees_ ,” Adrian exclaimed suddenly. “You’re _Ferdie!_ ”

Shunpike squeezed his eyes shut, wincing at the name.  “Oh, bugger.”

“You’re not just Cousin Stephen’s attorney, you’re his best mate from school!” Adrian said, agog. “How the hell did you not get kicked outta his trial for conflict of interest?”

“By being bloody brilliant, is how,” Shunpike said. “And bragging about being in Ravenclaw to anyone who listens so they don’t suspect me o’ bein’ friends with a snake like ‘im in the firs’ place.” He sighed deeply. “Can we talk about the hippogriff again? Creature laws and regs aren’t my specialty, that’s getting idiots like Steph outta jams. I did some lookin’ into it ‘fore I came ‘ere. Looks like the Committee for the Disposal o’ Dangerous Creatures won’t take written statements, unlike the Board of School Guv’ners. Means since we can’t get the kids down for it-”

“What do you mean, can’t get us down for it?” Harry asked.

“It’s on April twentieth, that’s a Friday,” Hermione said. “Everyone’s in classes.”

“This is more important than class,” Harry said stubbornly.

“Yer not comin’ to London with Sirius Black out there,” Hagrid said, just as stubbornly.

“Or any of the other students,” Adrian said. She turned to Shunpike. “This means Mr. Hagrid is the only one from our side testifying, then?”

“And Lucius Malfoy against,” Shunpike said, glancing at the school governor’s letter again. “Nasty one, that. Anyone know the speaking order?”

“The creature’s defense goes first,” Hermione said. “In all the cases I found records of. Then the person who brought the complaint, and finally the committee has to look at the creature in question, they’re not allowed to declare an execution for something they haven’t seen. That was put in in 1407 when someone brought a complaint against a supposed manticore, but when they went to kill it after the trial it turned out someone had put an Engorging Charm on a gnarl during a neighborhood dispute, and simply returning it to the normal size ended the danger. They killed it anyway.”

Everyone winced.

“Does it say it _has_ to be that order?” Shunpike asked.

“Not that I’ve found.”

“Then I’ll write the Committee,” Shunpike said, nodding. “And see if we can reverse it. Give ‘em an eyeful o’ hippogriff, then shuffle ‘im off to one side while Malfoy whines at ‘em, and let ‘Agrid give the defense last before they deliberate.” He pointed to Hermione’s stack of books. “Can I get the names o’ those?”

“Here,” Hermione said, passing over the parchment listing all the book titles, and page numbers she had marked to re-read.

Shunpike beamed at her again. “Superb organization.” Hermione ducked behind her books, letting her hair fall forward to hid her face. Shunpike finished the last of his tea and rose from the table. “I’m off, then.” He reached out and shook Hagrid’s hand farewell. “Be in touch by owl, try to get over for another talk before the hearing.” His broad, sunny smile seemed to fill up the whole room. “We’re gonna win this, jus’choo wait.”

~~~

“Harry!”

“Potter!”

Fred and George Weasley blocked Harry’s path back to the dungeon after class, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, grinning at him.

“So lovely to run into you.”

“Yes, capital, capital.” Fred nodded to himself, spare hand stroking his chin. “I was just saying to George here, I said, George my boy-”

“How terribly sad is it, that the dear, sweet soul who saved our Ginny is stuck here?”

“While all the other nasty little snakes-”

“Excuse us, we meant sneaky little monsters-”

“Yes, them, get to run off down to Hogsmeade?”

“The saddest,” George concluded.

“There haven’t even scheduled the next trip yet,” Harry pointed out. The twins sighed, shaking their heads. They unslung their arms and bracketed Harry in one smooth motion, herding him down the corridor. Curiosity won out over wariness; he didn’t bother trying to duck away. They finally stopped in front of a stone statue of a hump-backed witch.

“We present to you, freedom.”

“A statue,” Harry said, raising his brows at them. Fred shook his head sadly, while George patted the statue consolingly.

“A _secret passage_ ,” Fred said. “Honestly, didn’t you and Hermione already find some of these?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Most of them are behind tapestries, and there’s one you have to swing over a stair bannister to get into.”

“Not secret passages from one bit of the castle to another,” Fred said, waving his hand. “Secret passages _out_ of the castle.”

“This one leads directly to the Honeyduke’s cellar,” George said, patting the statute again. “Just bop it a couple times with your wand, say _Dissendium_ , and voila! Don’t even need a spell to get back out, there’s a lever underneath.”

“The Honeyduke’s cellar,” Harry repeated, keeping his eyebrows up.

“Yep!”

“And there’s no, what, intruder alert spells down there?” He’d seen discrete signs in the windows of Diagon Alley, telling thieves to piss off or face severe hexing.

Fred gasped and held out his hand, wiggling each finger one at a time. “Why, you’re right! The vicious, terrible curses Honeyduke’s places on their cellar have burned my fingers down to crispy nubbins.” He swung his arm around, shoving his completely unblemished hand in his twin’s face. “See? Hideous.” Then he patted Harry on the head condescendingly. “They don’t know about the passage, and there’s no windows down there. All the intruder alarms are at street level. Come on, aren’t you supposed to be cunning or something?”

“No no, Fred, this _is_ cunning,” George said, cupping his chin with one hand and leaning towards Harry, propping up his elbow on the statue. “Potter here wants to know his options, right? Wants to know about the _other_ secret passages.”

“Hey now, one sibling rescue, one secret passage,” Fred said. “He can learn about another one when he saves ickle Ronnikins from a flobberworm.”

“Aw, come on Fred,” George said. “That’s bound to happen eventually. Might as well pay it off in expectation, that sort of thing.”

“Oh, fine, you’ve convinced me,” Fred said. He sighed dramatically, and turned back to Harry. “There’s another passage under the Whomping Willow. No idea where it lets out.”

“How did you even find it?” Harry asked, absolutely sure they were pulling his leg. A secret passage under the most violent plant on campus, which they’d found, but not bothered to follow all the way to the end?

“That’s for us to know and you to wonder,” George said, shrugging. “You want to know how to get down it or not?”

“Yes,” Harry said quickly.

“There’s a knot at the base of the trunk,” Fred said. “South side, bit bigger than a snitch. If you can find a way to poke it, the Willow won’t whomp you for a couple minutes. Hole’s right next to the knot. If you ever decide to go exploring, tell us what’s at the other end, yeah?”

“Thanks,” Harry said.

“You’re welcome,” the twins chorused in unison, and with a friendly wave, left Harry to consider the stone statue.

~~~

“You spelled ‘channel’ wrong.”

“…pardon?”

After a month and a half of studying together, this was the first time Theodore had spoken a single word. He jabbed a finger down on Hermione’s Divination notes, voice exactly the same as when he’d cry “checkmate!” in a match against his housemates.

“There, right there,” Theodore said. “A properly opened Inner Eye will act as a _channel_ between the conscious and unconscious, not a _chamel_. That’s not even a real word, Granger.” He leaned back, crossing his arms smugly.

Hermione furrowed her brows and re-read her notes, Daphne reading along as well. Harry, across the table from them next to Theodore, tried to read it too, but gave up after only a few seconds.

“You mean here?” Hermione asked, tapping her finger on the same spot Theodore’s had been a moment before. “You’ve misread it, actually.” She spun her notes around so the boys could read them properly. “I can see why,” she added kindly. “I’ve got more space between the n’s in _inner_ than in _channel_.”

Theodore flushed, and went back to sulking over his own homework.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me Granger was smart?” he whined on the way back to the dungeon afterwards.

Harry raised his brows in lieu of an answer, and Daphne sighed. “Theo, she’s been top of our year _forever_.”

“I thought she was just a teacher’s pet,” Theodore said, looking away.

“Gryffindors don’t get good marks in Potions unless they earn it,” Harry said dryly.

“And _McGonagall_ certainly doesn’t have teacher’s pets,” Daphne added.

“Father says the only reason Muggle-borns do well in Hogwarts is because Dumbledore’s soft on them,” Theodore said. “He says they can’t _really_ understand magic properly.”

“ _Not understand?_ ” Harry echoed, incredulous. “What did you _think_ she did when we went after the Philosopher’s Stone, sit on the sides wringing her hands? What about last year, when she figured out the _basilisk_ was petrifying people? Not even the _teachers_ managed _that!_ ”

“Um…” Theodore rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. “I thought you, just, you said she did all that because you’re friends, not that she really did it.” He held up his hands defensively to ward off Harry’s glare. “But she _does_ understand magic! Every week I’ve been listening to you three work together, and she’s smarter than both of you put together!”

“Theo,” Daphne sighed. “If you thought all that, all that _nonsense_ , why did you think I was studying with her?”

“I thought you were buttering up Harry,” Theodore mumbled, staring down at his feet.

Daphne let out a very Pansy-like shriek of offended rage. “Oh! Oh, you, you, you _utter-_ oh!” She chased Theodore all the way back to the dungeon, threatening to hex him Gryffindor red and gold. Theodore yelped the password just in time for the stone door to slide back (rather than him smashing into it) and the three of them barreled into the common room, stopping short at the sight greeting them.

Dozens of students were inching curiously closer to a large, mottled green couch in the middle of the room. Terence lounged against one armrest, legs taking up most of the cushions. Adrian sprawled across the other end of the couch, legs flung over the back and head dangling from the seat. Olivia Shardlow loomed over them, fists planted on her hips is such a blatant imitation of Gemma that Harry had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.

“ _What_ are you _doing_?”

The crowd hastily inched back again.

“Studying for OWLs,” Adrian told Olivia.

“Transfiguration practice,” Terence said at the exact same moment.

“Merlin’s gemstone _belt_ Terence you’re a _prefect_ ,” Oliva scolded. “You _know_ couches aren’t allowed in the common room!”

“Actually,” Terence said slowly. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”

“Is it, now?” Olivia said, crossing her arms and starting to tap one foot. Adrian stretched, knocking her knuckles against the floor.

“The school rules state that all furnishings for the common room must be provided by the house alumni, either through direct donation or purchased by the prefectural committee with alumni funds.” Terence swiveled his legs off the cushions and leaned forward, dropping his hands onto his knees. “Slytherin house in particular has a list of approved colors, materials, and type of furnishings, as well as a list of those banned, and anything not found on either list must be approved by combined majority vote of the prefectural committee and seventh-year student-betterment committee.”

“And couches are on the banned list,” Olivia said, tapping foot speeding up. “They encourage licentious behavior.” Adrian snorted.

“ _Buuut_ ,” Terence drawled, smiling lazily. “The ban does not pertain to what is permitted to be _in_ the common room, only what can be accepted as a donation or purchased with funds. No one bought or donated this couch.”

“Merlin’s fraying hat,” Olivia sighed, covering her face in her hands, foot stilling. “Why are you _right_?”

“Because earlier generations of Slytherins loved loopholes just as much as we do?” Adrian suggested. She waved her arms at Olivia. “Help me up, Vivi, I’m stuck.”

“She’s not stuck, don’t listen to her,” Terence said. He patted the empty spot of cushion next to him. “Come on, it’s comfy-”

Olivia rolled her eyes at Terence and grabbed Adrian’s hands, pulling the taller girl from the couch just as there was a loud _pop_ , and a _thud_.

Three mismatched chairs sat where the couch had been, each one of the different shades of green formerly making up the mottling, though their legs were all the same type of wood. Or rather, two chairs sat, and one lay on its back with Terence blinking up at the ceiling.

“Ow.”

“Done that twice now,” Adrian said, prodding Terence with one toe. “We should borrow Gideon’s watch and time it.”

“Hm,” Olivia sniffed. “Forgot to compensate for Khulan’s Protomorphic Principle, did you?”

“ _Oh_.” Adrian’s face lit up as Terence groaned feelingly from the floor. “That’d do it, yeah. Hey! Does this mean you’re gonna help? Mathilda just laughed at us.”

Olivia sighed again, trying to hide a smile. “Well, I _do_ want to pass my transfiguration OWL…”

~~~

“You okay, mate?”

Harry looked up from his breakfast. The slew of cautionary letters had stopped after Christmas, but Adrian still got the Daily Prophet every morning. Its pages obscured her now as she read, leaving only her hands grasping the sides visible-

Shaking hands. Shaking paper. Terence leaned over to read whatever had spooked Adrian, and whistled.

“What’s it say, Terence?” Harry asked. Adrian folded the paper back up and shoved it into her bookbag.

“Says the Ministry’s authorized the dementors to Kiss Black when they catch him,” Terence said. Harry dropped his spoon.

“Never got a trial,” Adrian muttered. She glanced across the table to Gemma. “You said so.”

Gemma shrugged one shoulder, a tight, jerky motion, as though trying to dislodge a phantom hand. “Not much justice when you’re mopping up a war.”

“The war’s _over_ ,” Adrian snapped, and Gemma’s butter dish clanked against her plate. Adrian took a deep breath through her nose and ran a hand down her face. “Sorry.”

“They’re setting an example,” Gemma said. “It’s not about what he did then. It’s about _now_ . They can’t afford anyone thinking you can _really_ escape Azkaban.” She looked around, a quick flick of her eyes to either side that most people would miss, and reached across the table to put her hand over Adrian’s. Her voice grew quiet, soothing as cool water. “Nothing’s going to happen to your father, Adrian.”

Adrian took another deep breath, nodded, pulled her hand away to run both down her face. “I’ve got class.” Terence scrambled to get up as well and surreptitiously leaned against her side. She flung an arm over his shoulders.

By dinnertime, everyone had heard of the Ministry’s decision. Tracey had sharp red lines on her forehead, from digging her nails into her temples. Draco sneered at everyone when he knew they were looking, and bit his knuckles when he thought they weren’t. Pansy was completely ignoring her court, trying to comfort both of them without actually _saying_ that’s what she was doing. Harry holed up with Hermione and Daphne in the library; Theodore was avoiding him.

_Not Harry, please, not Harry!_

Sirius Black killed his parents.

_A flash of green, screaming, screaming, nothing but screaming-_

He’d have a mum and dad if Black hadn’t betrayed them, instead of just photographs and nightmares.

_Why don’t they bug my father? I’m sure they do. Loads. He’s in Azkaban._

Black cut up the Fat Lady. Her portrait was still being restored. The Gryffindors were guarded by Sir Cadogan now, who changed the password daily, and Ron Weasley always stuck to Neville Longbottom in the evenings, to make sure he could get into the tower.

 _I don’t want a go at the boggart, Pansy, leave me alone!_  
_But Tracey you need to practice, you can’t freeze up like Theo did-_ _  
I don’t know how to make Aurors funny, all right? I’ll just fail the final, it’s fine, we’ll have a new professor next year anyway._

The Ministry was just going to let Black rot in Azkaban like everyone else, before this. He wasn’t sentenced to lose his soul because he was a traitor and murderer, he was losing it because he _escaped_ , because he broke into Hogwarts, because the Ministry hadn’t caught him yet and hated looking foolish. Gemma was right, they were sending a message.

It was probably meant to be reassuring. Azkaban is inescapable! All right, someone escaped. But don’t worry, we’ll catch them! We haven’t caught them, but don’t worry, when we do we’ll rip their soul out so they can’t escape from anything ever again!

Harry shuddered. He wanted to _hurt_ Black, wanted him _dead_ , but . . . he didn’t like this. He didn’t like the Ministry deciding this was all right, that you could take someone’s _soul_ away because they were _dangerous_ . Hadn’t they thought Hagrid was dangerous, last year? Hadn’t they locked him up with the dementors without a trial, just to save face? What if Lucius Malfoy hadn’t given Ginny Weasley Riddle’s diary until _this_ year, when the Ministry was on edge?

Would Hagrid still have a soul?

The Slytherin dungeon was tenser than ever that night. Harry wanted to hide away in his dorm, draw the curtains on his four-poster closed, maybe slip under his invisibility cloak. He felt eyes on him the moment he came back from the library. Daphne stuck to his side, though, and he felt strangely like running away from this would be a betrayal. Of who, he wasn’t sure.

“Breath, Pershore, _breath_ ,” a seventh-year directed, grabbing Horatio’s hands away from his shoulders, as Harry and Daphne made their way to a windowsill.

“They’ll go after Auntie, I know they will!” Horatio wailed, hyperventilating.

“She was _cleared_ , calm down.”

“Barely cleared!”

“In, out, come on Pershore, breath in, breath out. In, out.”

Daphne squeezed Harry’s hand, prompting him to breathe as well. The niche looking up into the lake was cool and dark.

“What if they catch Black in _here_ ?” a sixth-year Harry couldn’t remember the name of asked her friend.  “He’s after Potter, what if he breaks in here next, what if the dementors _follow him in-_ ”

“They won’t,” her friend said, not sounding convinced. “Dumbledore won’t let them on the grounds.”

“They came onto the grounds at the match!”

“They won’t, they won’t, I bet Black’s long gone, he won’t break in again, he’s not stupid, right? He just wanted to make a big splash, get everyone looking _here_ while he slips off to Australia or Brazil or somewhere to lie low.”

Adrian and Terence sat back to back on an armchair, legs hooked over the sides. Adrian was so hunched in on herself that Terence’s shoulders stuck up past hers, despite him being shorter. Terence gestured slowly, broadly, talking incessantly as Adrian nodded along.

“We should just kick you out.”

Harry jerked his head up, surprised by the venom in Vincent’s voice. The taller boy stood in front of the windowsill, fists clenched, Gregory next to him.

“It’s your fault they’re here,” Vincent went on. Gregory shook his head, but didn’t interrupt. “Black’s after _you_ . If we kicked you out he’d _follow_ , and the dementors would _leave-”_

“It’s _n-n-not_ Harry’s fault,” Daphne said. Her hand tightened around Harry’s.

“ _It is!_ ” Vincent yelled. “ _It’s his fault, it’s always his fault, he’s supposed to be dead!_ ”

Silence did not grip the common room; too many people were crying, or muttering to themselves, or hyperventilating like Horatio Pershore. But it did get suddenly much quieter. Gregory covered his face in his hands, still shaking his head. Vincent rocked back on his heels, as though he’d surprised himself.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” he said again, shoulders rising, face hardening.

“Nobody is supposed to be dead,” Gemma said sharply, striding over, cold fire in her eyes. “ _Nobody_.”

“He _is!_ ” Vincent said, jabbing a finger towards Harry’s lightening scar. “He’s a filthy halfblood _freak_ -”

Harry launched himself at Vincent, seeing red, all the anger he’d felt towards Black redirecting itself to this much closer target.

“No!”

Daphne grabbed the back of Harry’s robes before he could connect, while Gregory hauled Vincent out of the way. Adrian was already out of the armchair and halfway across the room towards them, wand out. Gemma gestured sharply with her own, sending Vincent and Gregory sliding twenty feet across the stones, as though it were a frozen pond.

“He’s _our_ freak!”

And standing by the notices board, a second-year girl stood with shaking fists and a determined face. “He’s _ours!_ ” she yelled again. _Tabitha_ , Harry thought, that’s Tabitha Bainbridge who only ever spoke to him to ask for extra jam at breakfast, and he knew her name because he’d sketched her when she was embroidering her handkerchiefs by hand.

Vincent growled, but didn’t speak again; Draco had run over to help Gregory, and the two of them got Vincent shoved down into a chair and dropped someone else’s stack of textbooks on his lap.

Gemma rounded on Harry. “His words were unacceptable,” she said quietly. “But if you try to attack a fellow student again I _will_ report you to Professor Snape _and_ the Headmaster, do you understand?”

“…yes,” Harry said. Daphne let go of his robes, and he sunk back in the cushions. Gemma nodded, then gave Daphne a tiny, rare smile. “Good reflexes. Thank you.” She strode off to speak with Tabitha, who looked a bit bewildered now that there wasn’t going to be a fight.

~~~

“Expecto patronum! _Expecto patronum!_ ”

The fourth patronus lesson was going _miserably_. The third had been a triumph; solid shapes for everyone, not quite animals yet but evoking the form they could take. Firmly silver, not wispy. Today most of the class summoned in-between forms, an oval with fins not quite a full fish, a pouncing squishy block that moved like a cat but didn’t have the outline, a triangle with a blob on one edge flapping bat-like around the room.

The four Slytherins, however, all backslid to the first lesson. Terence’s broad disc was mere insubstantial smoke, Olivia only managed puffs of vapor, Adrian couldn’t summon _anything_ , and Harry, well-

“Expecto- expect… _oh_ …”

Everything was black, and green, and fear-

_Take Harry and go! It’s him! Run! I’ll hold him off-_

Cold withered hands on his face-

_Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead-_

“Halfpint!”

Strong hands on his shoulders, yanking him back, pulling him away from the cold. A loud _crack,_ and the lights came back on, the screams ceased. Adrian stood between him and the boggart, shaking, one hand still gripping his shoulder tight.

The boggart had turned into a mug of hot cocoa, complete with marshmallows, spoon, and a trickle of chocolate spilling down the side.

“R- _riddukulus!”_

Nothing changed. Adrian swore. Professor Lupin rushed forward, turning the boggart into the usual softly glowing sphere, just as Lennox and Shimizu hauled Harry and Adrian backwards.

“Why can’t we _get_ this?” Olivia wailed, digging her hands into her hair. “ _We need to get this!_ ”

“You all did well last time,” Diggory said.

“Yeah, what happened?” Harwich asked.

“Adrian-” Harry said quietly, tapping her hand.

“Shit, sorry.” She let go of his shoulder, and he fell down. Well. Sat down. On the floor. Very suddenly. Terence sat down next to him and handed over the sack of chocolate bars.

“Whatever’s caused this urgency is also hindering you four,” Lupin said thoughtfully. “If we talk through it- _oh_.” His face shuttered.

“Read the paper too, do you?” Adrian muttered. Ormskirk heard her and clapped a hand over her mouth. Harry’s own was numb enough that the chocolate dribbled down his chin as he chewed.

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry,” Ormskirk said. “It _is_ awful, I know the Ministry’s looking out for everyone, but that _can’t_ be the right thing, it just can’t.”

“Talking about it won’t help,” Terence said. He pushed himself back to his feet. “We need to master this bloody spell, not sit around whining about it.”

“You’re right,” Lupin said. He nodded firmly. “But we’re not practicing on the boggart again today. Everyone stay here, please, I will be right back.” He picked up the battered suitcase, jogged out of the room, then stuck his head back in a moment later. “Cedric, Toby, could you assist me, please?”

The students left behind looked at each other uneasily. What could Professor Lupin be getting for practice that _wasn’t_ the boggart? And why did he need help with it?

Ten minutes later, Lupin and Lennox returned with a gramophone and record collection. A few minutes after that, Diggory ran in clutching a huge basket of snacks and lemonade.

“I was saving this idea for our last lesson,” Lupin said, setting the gramophone up on the podium the boggart’s suitcase usually sat on. “But now seems appropriate, don’t you think?”

“Are we having a party, professor?” Tsuji asked.

“Yes.” Lupin delicately tapped a record with his wand until it began spinning. “When our old happy memories no longer do the trick, we make new ones. The dementors are terrifying and strong, but we? We are _stronger_ .” His smile grew a sharp edge. “We _adapt_.”

“Could we still have a party, our last class?” Shimizu asked, as cheery music filled the choir hall.

“Oh, yes,” Lupin said. “Looking forward to the future can be just as useful as happy memories, though I find the dementor’s sphere of pessimism makes it harder to hold on to.”

“You’ve got good music, professor!” Tsuji said. She grabbed Ormskirk’s hands and spun her around the room, skipping to the beat. Terence bowed to Olivia; she took his hand and laughed when he dipped her. Adrian helped Harry to his feet; Diggory and Harwich immediately descended on them, lending Harry a supporting arm until his shaking subsided.

Lupin didn’t let them forget this was a lesson; he called out “Now!” at random points every few songs, prompting everyone to cast their patronus. Harwich’s almost-cat chased Diggory’s salmon between the dancers; Harry got his springy summon back, though he still couldn’t tell what it was; Adrian’s bird-ish triangle swooped around Shimizu’s bat-ish one. By the end of the class everyone was yelling _expecto patronum!_ in time to the music, not waiting for Lupin’s direction, laughing as their silver protectors filled the room like balloons.

When Harry fell into bed, hours later, he dreamt without nightmares.


	12. Swing My Heart Across the Line

A restlessness gripped Adrian as winter waned. She took to rising with the rowing team and running around the lake while they crossed it, collapsing in front of the common room fire to nap until breakfast. Similarly antsy without Quidditch practice, Harry started roaming the castle and grounds with Hermione again; her Wednesday Gryffindor study group broke up after Crookshanks finally ate Scabbers at the end of February.

“He didn’t!” Hermione insisted, sitting with Harry during the Gryffindor/Ravenclaw match, the first Saturday of March. “Ron found blood on the sheets and can’t find Scabbers, that doesn’t mean Crookshanks killed him! He’s probably wandered off like Neville’s toad does, I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

“Unless he wandered off to die in peace,” Harry suggested. “He _did_ look rather awful this summer.”

“Oh don’t _say_ that!” Hermione wailed, hiding her face in her hands. The Hufflepuffs sitting nearby shot Harry an evil look as he patted her back awkwardly.

The month went from bad to worse; The Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures summoned Buckbeak to London early. Shunpike hadn’t even been able to stop by for his second consultation, though he had been owling every week since the first one. Hedwig flew between London and Hogwarts, reassuring them that Hagrid was practicing his defense speeches (he had time, since the Committee kept him and Shunpike kicking their heels for a week).

A grumpy Ravenclaw prefect supervised the Care of Magical Creatures students as they poked lettuce into the new batch of flobberworms during their regular class time.

“I don’t see why we have to be here if that oaf isn’t,” Draco whined to Vincent and Gregory.

“Because magical creatures need feeding whether your instructor’s here or not!” the Ravenclaw prefect yelled, making everyone jump. “And you’d better shred that lettuce _yourself_ , Malfoy, or I’ll be marking you down for not participating!”

Draco reluctantly took a large leaf from Gregory and ripped it into pieces, dropping them on the flobberworms.

“Feeding these things always reminds me of when Mum found Scabbers in the cabbage,” Ron said loudly to Neville Longbottom, at the next tank over from Harry and Hermione. “Percy took him out into the garden for some sun, right? Then Percy goes chasing off after Fred and George, they weren’t doing the de-gnoming right, and next thing we know Mum’s gone to weed and found Scabber’s had made himself a nice little nest in a head of cabbage. Hollowed the whole thing out, curled up for nap. Sound asleep, making this little whistling snore. Good thing there weren’t any cats around, they’d have heard him-”

“Look,” Harry said quietly, as Hermione gulped back a sob. “I could hex him right now, he’s not even paying attention-”

“Oh, _don’t!_ ” Hermione cried. The Ravenclaw prefect smacked Harry with the grading clipboard.

Hermione stayed on the grounds with Harry that Saturday as everyone else tromped merrily off for Hogsmeade. He’d shown her the Weasley twin’s secret passage under the statue, but neither of them really felt like exploring it. Instead they slowly walked around the lake, and eventually lay down on the basilisks’ knoll, surrounded by early-blooming wildflowers, staring morosely up at the clouds.

“I really wish I hadn’t taken Divination,” Hermione said. “Reading tea leaves is just like seeing shapes in the clouds, except it all means terrible things.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked. He pointed up. “That one looks like a puppy, that can’t be terrible.”

“A dog in your teacup is the Grim, and it means you’ll die soon.” She pointed at the cloud next to it. “Except _that_ looks like an eagle, and _that_ one looks like a horse, and Professor Trelawney would say that all together it means Buckbeak’s doing to lose the case and be-” she gulped. “And be-”

“It’s not a horse,” Harry said quickly. “More of a fat little pony. Shetland maybe? And you must be blinder than me, that’s never an eagle. Maybe a chicken.”

Adrian found them shortly before lunch.

“Whew!” She put her hands on her hips and peered down at them. “Lucky Granger’s hat stuck up, I barely saw you two here! Come on, I need help wrangling firsties.”

“Why aren’t you down in Hogsmeade?” Harry asked, scrambling up and pulling Hermione to her feet.

“Because everyone else is,” Adrian said, as they meandered back towards the castle. “So nobody’s booked the pitch.” She grinned at Harry’s joyous expression. “Madam Hooch says we can have it until dinner if we spend the first hour coaching the firsties that failed her flying class this year, and we have a prefect with us. I got Clearwater to agree to it.”

“Not Terence?” Harry asked.

Adrian’s grin grew wider. “You didn’t hear?”

“Uh…” Harry racked his brains for overheard-while-sketching-people gossip. “Terence never misses a Hogsmeade trip?”

“Everyone knows that, think harder.” Adrian waved a hand dismissively. “Come on, pipsqueak, who’s he been talking to lately?”

“Half the Quidditch team,” Harry said immediately, because he’d seen Graham, Lucian, and Cassius stalk off from chats with Terence that week, looking vexed. “And Olivia?” Who _hadn’t_ looked vexed. That wasn’t weird either, though, Terence checked in with the other prefects a lot.

“Olivia Shardlow’s a prefect, isn’t she?” Hermione said, echoing Harry’s thoughts. “Are they conferring about their jobs? Percy says it’s been more difficult this year because of Sirius Black.” She immediately put a hand over her mouth and glanced at Harry. “Sorry!”

“He _says_ it’s prefect business,” Adrian sing-song’d. “But he’s taking her to Madam Puddifoot’s.”

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed. “I’ve been there, Lavender said they had the _best_ chamomile, she was right, it’s heavenly.” She turned to Harry. “If we get another trip this year I’ll have to ask if they sell sachets, so we can make our own.”

“Will wonders never cease,” Adrian said. “Who’d you go with, Granger?”

Hermione blinked at her. “Myself?” Adrian snorted, grinning, and Hermione bit her lip. “…was I _supposed_ to go with someone?” her voice wobbled.

“Shit, sorry, no, you’re fine,” Adrian said hurriedly. “Good tea is good tea.” She reached past Harry to pat Hermione on the shoulder. “You’re good at tutoring, right? Help me turn firsties into fledgies after lunch.”

Hermione crossed her arms. “I’m not that good a flyer.”

“Well _someone’s_ gotta catch ‘em when they fall off,” Adrian said. “Heard you practiced Hovering Charms last year.”

“Please, Hermione?” Harry added.

Hermione huffed, but uncrossed her arms with a smile, and she did meet them after lunch. A dozen first years met them as well, from all houses. Penelope Clearwater had gone ahead to the school broomshed with Madam Hooch’s key. And somehow Colin had gotten word, and was waiting in the stands with his camera, flashbulb carefully removed so no one would be blinded while they flew.

Coaching the first years was fun. Hermione was a _steady_ flyer, if not an enthusiastic one, and her presence soothed the Gryffindor first years who were nervous being coached by an older Slytherin. Adrian took great delight ordering Harry around, making him demonstrate advanced moves and what _not_ to do; half their students screamed when he suddenly flopped to the side and hung from his broom by one leg. Agnes Monkleigh, who said she’d been badgered into coming by Terence, put her hands over her ears and glared at him.

Nobody wanted to leave after the first hour, so Clearwater transfigured a large clump of grass into a woven ball they could play catch with. Agnes ignored everyone else as they tossed it back and forth; she’d discovered that, if she kicked off _just_ right when she landed, that she could bounce off again. Not _fly_ off, not go up high and stay there, but soar in a giddy arc for a dozen yards or so. Hermione, curious, emulated her. “Oh!” She beamed. “It’s like a trampoline!” She and Agnes spent the rest of the afternoon happily bouncing across the pitch, a good third of the other first years joining them.

“All right, time to pack up!” Adrian yelled half an hour before dinner. The first years groaned sadly. “You all did great, I’m sure nobody’s going to crash during the test next year. Come on, brooms back in the shed!”

Colin spent the walk back between Clearwater and Harry, happily chattering about the shots he’d gotten. He broke off when Hedwig swooped down in front of Adrian. She took the proffered letter, and Hedwig nibbled at Harry’s sleeve before swooping off again. Adrian stayed still, frowning down at her own name in Shunpike’s spiky handwriting on the envelope.

“What’s that?” Colin asked.

“A letter,” Adrian said dryly.

“Who’s it-”

“Leave be, Colin,” Clearwater said, catching the tightness in Adrian’s face. She put a hand on Colin’s back and gave a gentle push to get him walking again. Trusting his prefect, he did so, though still cast a curious glance over his shoulder at them.

“Thanks,” Adrian muttered. Clearwater nodded, and walked on ahead to make sure Colin and the first years made it up to the castle. Adrian watched until they reached the steps, and then ripped the envelope open. “Asked Ferdie to send word when it was over.” Harry and Hermione tried to read it as well, but Adrian was holding it close to her face, squinting to make the words out in the growing twilight.

“We lost.”

“No!” Hermione gasped.

“They’re coming back,” Adrian said quietly, folding up the letter and slipping it into her pocket. “Buckbeak has to stay separate from his herd until the execution-”

“ _No!_ ”

“Or the _appeal_ ,” Adrian went on. “We lost this _round_ , the case isn’t _over_ , calm down Granger.”

“Well don’t make it all dramatic like that,” Hermione said irritably, crossing her arms and glowering. Adrian tried to grin at her, but only managed tired half-smile.

“Ferdie’s coming back with ‘em,” Adrian explained. “Should be at the gates tomorrow morning, we can meet ‘em. Get the details and plan the next step then.”

~~~

F.E. Shunpike accompanied Hagrid and Buckbeak back to Hogwarts, eyes glittering dangerously. Hagrid was still morose; Shunpike kept patting his back while telling the teenagers about the trial.

“Bloody well paid off, they were,” Shunpike said with a deep sigh. “Haven’t seen a group o’ wizards and witches ‘oo didn’t care wut wuz bein’ said to ‘em so obviously since I tried to tell my parents I wuz never getting married.” He shook his head. “Means the appeal’s dead useless, that’s only one member o’ the Committee comin’ along with an executioner to pretend they’s listening.”

“That’s horrible!” Hermione said. “What was the point of all our research, of holding a hearing at all, if they’re just going to let themselves be bribed?”

“Might not’ve been bribed,” Adrian said. She shrugged when everyone but Hagrid turned to look at her in surprise. “Might’ve been threatened, like the Board of Governors last year.”

“They’re scared of Lucius Malfoy,” Hagrid agreed, nodding. The motion shook tears from his beard.

“Either way, it’s a blatant disregard of the justice system!” Hermione said, standing up and slamming her hands on the table. “We have to do something!”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Shunpike beamed. “And what we’re gonna do is disregard the system too.”

“…pardon?” Hermione said, sitting back down.

“Smuggle the hippogriff outta the grounds,” Shunpike said. “Can’t execute ‘im if ‘ee ain’t ‘ere!”

“Won’t that get Hagrid in trouble?” Hermione asked. “He’s supposed to keep Buckbeak isolated and tethered, the letter said so.”

“We smuggled Nor-” Harry cut himself off, casting a wary eye at Shunpike, who looked at the ceiling pretending he hadn’t heard. “You know. We got him out.”

“No one knew about…him,” Hermione countered. “We’ve got a Committee member and an executioner due out here who knows when, expecting Buckbeak!”

“An impartial witness, too,” Shunpike added. He propped his elbow up in the table, cupping his chin thoughtfully. “Could wear down the tether, make it look like the cold damaged it, get Beaky ‘ere to yank it apart and fly off.”

“They’ll examine the chain,” Adrian said, frowning. “And Malfoy doesn’t let grudges go. We get Buckbeak out of here, he’ll come swinging for Mr. Hagrid. Or Professor Dumbledore again, but he might not be stupid enough to try _that_.”

“I ‘eard ‘bout that,” Shunpike said. “Malfoy tryin’ to oust Dumbledore, losing ‘is seat on the Board of School Guv’nors.”

Hagrid interrupted this tangent by shaking his head sadly. “It’s no good, anyhow. Buckbeak won’t go. He won’t leave his herd.”

“Wot if we got ‘im a new ‘erd?” Shunpike asked. “Found someone to take ‘im in?”

“But who’s got a herd of hippogriffs that we can trust?” Adrian asked. “We don’t want someone blabbing where they got Buckbeak, then Mr. Hagrid and all of us would _really_ be in trouble.”

Hagrid added, in a very quiet, trembling voice that Harry had never heard him use before, “I don’t ever want ter go back ter Azkaban.”

An uneasy silence followed this pronouncement. Hermione bit her lip and started flicking through her stack of parchments, trying to find a precedent that could help. Adrian glared at the table. Shunpike, who had already railed about Hagrid’s arrest last year in one of his letters (What good is coming up with juries and counselors and rules in the first place if you chuck people in the nick without a trial? Or even _evidence_?) rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“Look, there’s got to be _something!_ ” Harry burst out. “Running away or a rigged appeal can’t be our _only_ choices!”

“Wee-eell,” Shunpike said, drawing the word out. “There’s always trial by combat, but…” he trailed off, chuckling. “No one’s done that in decades. Musta been over a century, I think.”

“Because magical duels were banned,” Hermione said, perplexed. “And the wizarding judicial system only allowed wands in trial by combat in the first place.”

“ _Personal_ dueling wuz banned,” Shunpike said, grinning at her. “They never took judicial ones offa the books.”

“How does it work?” Harry asked, failing to sound casual.

Shunpike lost his grin. “It’s not a good idea.”

“Humor us, please,” Hermione said, sounding halfway between Professor Flitwick and McGonagall.

“Well, fer regular disputes it’s pretty much just a duel,” Shunpike said, raised brows letting them know he wasn’t fooled. “Get a second even. Have to get through one round o’ court before you can declare it and there’s something about witnesses. Defendant against the system can either fight for themselves or have a champion. A champion _is_ a second, so they don’t get one. And the court picks a champion from their ranks or from an associated group.”

“And cases like this?” Hermione asked, when Shunpike paused.

He sighed deeply, and affected his posh voice again. “In the case where the defendant cannot properly duel, due to being a non-wizard, a child, or any other valid reason, a voluntary champion may issue the challenge on their behalf.”

“And who can _be_ a champion?” Hermione asked.

“Oh no yer don’t,” Hagrid said, before Shunpike could answer.

“But you don’t have a wand, Hagrid!” Hermione said. “And Buckbeak certainly can’t duel.”

“Neither of yer,” Hagrid said firmly, ignoring this comment. He pointed to Hermione and Harry. “Yer both underage, and that’s that!”

“Actually there’s no age limit,” Shunpike said, looking apologetic as he did so. “As long as someone has wielded a wand for over a year and a day, they’re eligible for a judicial duel.”

Another silence. Harry and Hermione looked at each other-

“I’ll do it.”

Adrian was still glaring down at the table, arms crossed over her chest. She repeated herself, louder. “I’ll do it. Tell me how to issue the challenge.”

“Steph asked me to keep you outta trouble, beanpole,” Shunpike said.

“Cousin Stephen’s not here,” Adrian shot back. “Do I write a letter? Do I have to go to London?”

“ _No_ ,” Hagrid said. “Most o’ the committee joined because they _like_ excuses ter destroy interestin’ creatures. Yer not gettin’ into a bloody fight with grown wizards like that fer me.”

“Yes I am!” Adrian said, looking up from the table finally to glare at Hagrid. “I’m tired of keeping my head down, I’m tired of shit like this happening! Lucius Malfoy is a bully and a coward and he’s _not getting his way this time!_ ”

Everyone jumped back at the fierceness of this declaration. Hagrid blinked, tears rapidly welling at the corners of his eyes, and swept Adrian out of her chair in a ginormous hug.

“Yer a good kid,” he said, when he finally set her back on her feet. Adrian looked poleaxed. “I still don’t want yer doin’ this, but yer a good kid.”

“ ‘oo don’t gotta go saving everyone else jus’ ‘cause ‘oo saved Steph,” Shunpike said, frowning at Adrian. “Dangerous ‘abit, innit?”

Adrian’s face scrunched in puzzlement. “I never saved Cousin Stephen, you did, with your…” she waved one hand, “you know, talking people in circles, referencing proper law, all that.”

“Your testimony’s what turned the case, greenbean,” Shunpike said, looking just as puzzled.

“I never testified.”

“Well they don’t like to drag kids inta court, but when they included the phonoquill recordings from Steph and ‘is other cousin’s interviews, I made ‘em bring in yours too.” He grinned. “The aurors who’d done it all were still in town so the Wizengamot brought ‘em in to read ‘em aloud, made the best faces when Kirkpatrick had to enunciate your swears all clear and concise.”

“I never…they never…” Adrian ran her hands over her head. “They used that? It…it helped?”

“ ‘course it helped,” Shunpike said. “Little kid don’t know she’d been given Veritiserum says ‘er mum never let on where she was at, where she was going, what ‘er plans were? And that Steph was there the whole time, and asked leading questions every year, and never got no answers? Made it clear that he _woulda_ turned your mum in if she’d given ‘im any clues, changed the whole case, made ‘im look like a cunning bugger on the same side as the law, instead of an arrogant nit trying to keep things in the family.” He peered at Adrian’s paling face. “…they _did_ tell you about the Veritiserum, once the trial was over, didn’t they?”

“No.” Adrian scrubbed her clenched fists over her skull. “Only ever told me the verdict. I didn’t figure it out until I got to Hogwarts and found it in my Potions textbook.”

Hermione clapped both hands over her mouth. Harry leaned over and whispered “What’s Veritiserum?”

“Truth potion,” Hermione whispered back.

“So, uh, about the Committee,” Adrian said, shooting Harry and Hermione a look that said _I heard that_. She rapped her knuckles on the table. “How do I challenge the bastards?”

Shunpike closed his eyes and sighed. “With a letter, if you’re not letting anyone talk sense into you.” He beckoned for Hermione to hand him a quill. “ ‘oo got blank parchment in that stack?”

~~~

The Committee’s reply came directly to Adrian two days later.

 _Miss Pucey,_  
_Your challenge has been noted and accepted. We the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures shall choose a Champion, a time, and a location for the duel and notify you, the defendant, and the defendant’s handler no less than one week before the duel is to commence._ _  
Sincerely,_

There followed a long list of names, presumably the committee members. Terence whistled after he finished reading. “You sure you know what you’re doing, mate?”

“Nope,” Adrian said, digging in her bookbag. “You got any sealing wax? I wanna make a copy of this for Ferdie.”

Word of the duel quickly spread through the school; just the right combination of gruesome and hubristic to drive thought of Sirius Black (and homework) out of mind.

“I heard the last time someone dueled a Ministry committee was back in 1807.”

“Do you think they’ll hold it here? Do you think the execution’ll be here too?”

“I heard Pucey has to fight _everyone_ on the Committee.”

“Why don’t they just let the hippogriff duel? You know, since the executioner just gets an axe, take the tether off first and see who wins.”

Hagrid varied between fretful and hopeful, with his lessons acting as a barometer. Flobberworms and choked back tears the weeks pessimism was winning, comparing doxie and fairy eggs or examining chizpurfle remains when optimism was winning. He was still reluctant to let them meet anything more lively than a flobberworm, but even a little variety was such a massive improvement that all the Care of Magical Creature OWL and NEWT students took to flashing Adrian smiles and thumbs-up when they passed in the halls, even the Gryffindor ones.

The mood was less cheery in the dungeon. Pansy Parkinson led a sizable cohort that derided Adrian for protecting the dangerous, volatile creature that savaged Draco. The older students _not_ taking Care of Magical Creatures were inclined to back Pansy, especially the ones that knew hippogriff owners outside of school. _Their_ family and friends’ hippogriffs had never attacked anyone. Buckbeak was clearly aberrant, and should never have been let on school grounds, let alone near a child.

“We’ve been _over_ this,” Trupti Kadam groaned, when Draco tried sniping at Adrian one evening. “No one _had_ to go in the paddock, and it’s an _elective_. Not like mandatory flying lessons where you’re getting shoved on a broom will-ye or nil-ye.”

“Yeah, didn’t one of your lot break a wrist in flying class?” Gideon Scalby asked.

“No,” Tracey snapped, before Draco could answer. “One of the _Gryffindors_ broke their wrist.”

“There, see?” Trupti said, gesturing dismissively at the third-years. “Nobody burned any brooms over it.”

As the weather warmed, Harry slipped back into old habits of avoiding his housemates after class, filling his notebook with sketches of trees, bugs, flowers, snakes, the lake, and anything else he could find outdoors. Hermione sighed wistfully when she spotted his sketches during their evening study session in the library, but insisted she didn’t have time to join him outside.

Someone _did_ join him once, just before April; Ginny Weasley found him lying on his back under the oak tree Adrian had been tangled in that fall, trying to draw the underside of a bird’s nest and cursing to himself.

“Are you busy?”

“Not in a second,” Harry said. He waved one hand, shoo’ing her to the side. “Get out of my light and I’m all yours.”

Ginny laughed, and stepped quickly away. Harry made a few more strokes with his charcoal before the robin returned with another twig and changed the outline _again_. Harry swore viciously, earning another laugh, and shoved himself upright. “What’s up?”

Ginny suddenly grew shy, eyes darting away, hands coming up to fidget with the end of her braid. “Hermione said…she said you introduced her, your first year. To the snakes.”

“Uh, yeah,” Harry said. He cast an anti-smearing charm on the charcoal and flipped his sketchbook closed. “Did you…?”

“I wanna meet them.” Ginny let go of her braid, chin coming up.

“Okay.” Harry had spoken to one fresh out of hibernation last week. “We gotta crawl through some bushes, are you…” He waved vaguely at her uniform. Ginny glanced down, and shrugged. Harry grinned and got his art supplies back in his bookbag.

Two grass snakes were sharing the best sunning rock next to the broken pane of the greenhouse when Harry and Ginny arrived. Harry hissed his way through the bushes, letting them know he was bringing a friend, so neither fled when they smelled a stranger.

“ _Hello!”_

“ _Your friend is hurt?_ ”

Harry startled and twisted his head around to look at Ginny; her fingers dug into the dead leaves and dirt as she breathed fast, eyes wide.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.”

“ ‘cause you’re kind of freaking them out.”

Ginny snorted, laughing, surprised, and let go of the ground. She took a deep breath, smiled. “I know I asked for an introduction, but could we wait a couple minutes?”

“Sure.” Harry wiggled further into the leaves, blinked slowly at the grass snakes to assure them he only wanted to sun, and took a few deep breaths himself. Slowly, inch by inch, Ginny relaxed, resting her head on her hands.

A third snake slithered out of the greenhouse, hissing a greeting that Harry returned, before vanishing past them into the bushes. Ginny tensed again, leaves scrunching up between her fingers.

“If you’re not okay-”

“I _want_ to be okay.”  Ginny ground one of the leaves between her finger and thumb. “I want to be okay with _you_ hissing, so maybe I won’t- won’t- panic when I hear the dementors.”

“You hear them hissing?”

“Yeah?” Ginny gave him a puzzled look. “Don’t you?”

“No.” Harry dropped his head down on his hands, letting the dappled sunlight warm his scalp. “Professor Lupin says dementors make you remember your worst experiences. Different for everyone.”

“…oh.”

They lapsed into silence, lost in their own thoughts. One of the snakes moved into a better position on the sunning rock; Ginny winced at the quiet sound of scales on stone. Harry cast around for a distraction.

“We missed you at Christmas,” he blurted out. “All of you, I mean, there were only four of us and it was fun but honestly popping crackers without the twins just isn’t the same.”

“We missed you too,” Ginny said, blushing. “Penelope must’ve too, she’s so much more fun at school! I think Mum scared her.”

“Oh no, really?”

“Yeah, Penelope was a _terror_ in that snowball fight this year, but at our place she was trying to be a good guest and help Mum tidy up so she kept missing all our fights!”

“That’s too bad,” Harry said.

“I helped, though,” Ginny said, nervously destroying a few more leaves. “Bullied Ron into doing the washing-up on Boxing Day so she and Percy could go build a snowman.” Her smile grew sly. “They made it a prefect’s badge from ice.”

“…you’re pulling my leg.”

“Broke an icicle off the shed for a wand,” Ginny added, nodding so that her chin brushed the dirt. “Very traditional for a wizard’s snowman.”

“…I can’t _tell_ if you’re pulling my leg,” Harry said, trying to remember what his classmates’ snowmen looked like the last few years.

Ginny laughed, bright and cheery as the dappled sunlight. The silence that followed was warm, content, and lasted until the spring winds blew in rainclouds, and chased the grass snakes back into the greenhouse.

“You know,” Ginny said, clutching her pointed hat over her hair as they ran back to the castle. “They’re actually really pretty.”

“Yeah?” Harry said, his own hat squashed somewhere near the bottom of his bookbag. It was amazing how much rain could lash down in only a few minutes. His hair clung damply to his skull.

“Not cute, not like puffskeins, but pretty.”

“I’ll tell them you said so, next time.”

“Thanks.”

The rain kept lashing the castle all through dinner (“Merlin’s beard Ginny, you’re soaked,” Percy Weasley exclaimed, and cast drying charms while Ginny giggled) and pelted the library windows so loudly that the Monday night study group broke up early.

“Get some _sleep_ , Granger,” Daphne admonished, as they parted in the hallway.

“I’m fine,” Hermione said, stifling a yawn. “Tell Nott thank you for the Arithmancy proof-reading, please?” Daphne nodded; Theodore was now only coming to the sessions that Harry missed due to the Patronus class, but finally treating it as a real study group.

“She’s going to start dropping off in weird places like Adrian if she doesn’t drop some classes,” Terence observed, as Hermione vanished around a corner. He’d been in the library as well tonight, jotting down notes from a large, gilded tome titled _Geographical & Temporal Variations in Tarot _. “Oh, bug- drat,” Terence said, just before they turned their own corner, and slapped himself in the forehead. “Forgot my text. Don’t wait up.” He turned and dashed back down the hall for the library.

“Reckon Pince’ll’ve closed up by the time he gets there?” Harry asked, as they rounded the corner.

“I hope not-”

“ _Taste sparkly vengeance, Higgs_ \- oh no, oh no no no!”

Fred and George Weasley desperately tried to stop a small cauldron in mid-air as it hurtled down from a chandelier towards Daphne and Harry, and barely managed to keep it from hitting the Slytherins. Unfortunately, the contents, glittery yellow and red paint, sloshed out of the cauldron directly onto Daphne’s robes, face, and hair. She trembled, gasping in shock, as the twins flailed.

“Oh no, oh no-”

“It’ll wash right out!”

“We didn’t mean-”

“Please don’t cry!”

“ _What’d you assholes do to my third-year?_ ”

Terence, textbook in hand, bookbag askew on his shoulder, rounded the corner just as Daphne raised her hands and wiped some of the paint off her face. Harry had his wand out, wondering if he should offer to try the water-summoning spell, hoping the Weasleys were telling the truth about it washing out.

“We thought it was you!” Fred tugged at his hair.

“Revenge for getting us detention all week!” George added.

“What are you talking about?” Terence asked. He patted Daphne on the shoulder. She looked at the red and yellow paint on her hands and sniffed back tears. Harry dug out his handkerchief for her. “Don’t worry, there’s a prefects’ bathroom with a tub and fifty types of soap nearby, we’ll get this off.”

“It only needs water, really,” George added.

“You blew up our Sleeping Draught this morning,” Fred said, contrite expression replaced with a scowl. “Snape’s _already_ made us spend the afternoon scraping it off the ceiling! My hands _still_ smell like garlic and dung.”

“You idiots are perfectly capable of ruining your own potions,” Terence shot back, hand on Daphne’s back to direct her down the hall. The Weasleys and Harry followed.

“Hey now, we don’t experiment around innocent bystanders,” George protested.

“…anymore,” Fred added. “And it _was_ you, Pucey was snoring up front, and that dungbomb didn’t land in our cauldron on its own!”

“You don’t-” Daphne said, finally getting the paint off her mouth with Harry’s handkerchief. “You don’t keep your cauldrons in the leftmost cupboard, do you?”

“…yeah,” Fred said. “One on the top-shelf, one on the bottom-shelf. Why?”

“B-because I keep mine on the second shelf from the bottom, all the way on the left,” Daphne said. “A-and Millicent said Filch was checking pockets and bags, last week, and I didn’t want to get in trouble, so I hid my d-d-dungbombs in my cauldron after class.” She sniffed again. “I was in a hurry. I must’ve got the wrong one.”

Terence slapped his forehead again.

Fred and George looked at each other. “Do you mean to tell me…”

“…we just managed to prank the person who _actually_ landed us in detention?”

Daphne nodded miserably. Fred and George shook their heads in wonder.

“ _Hogwarts_.”


	13. Always Worth the Fight

Harry held very, very still as Tracey painted his face. Emerald green from hairline to just under the apples of his cheeks. Next to them, Millicent did up her own face with a hand-mirror, declaring Blaise too impatient to do it right.

“Remind me why we’re going to all this trouble?” Blaise asked from Harry’s other side, quickly drawing the end of a brush across Gregory’s still-wet paint to etch out a diamond crosshatch pattern.

“House unity,” Pansy said primly. She took Blaise’s place the moment he was done, and filled in Gregory’s crosshatch lines with silver paint. Harry closed his eyes as Tracey moved on to that step on him. “We’re going to drag Hufflepuff through the mud, and we’re going to look _amazing_ while we do it.”

“You mean while the _team_ does it,” Blaise corrected. Hufflepuff versus Slytherin was the second-to-last match of the season; with such a narrow win against Ravenclaw, Slytherin needed to not just win, but win by more than a three hundred point margin, to have a shot at the Cup. Draco responded to the pressure this placed on him as Seeker by swaggering even _more_ than usual, and keeping his nose so high in the air he’d tripped on the moving staircase three times since Tuesday.

“All done,” Tracey declared. Harry took the brush and started sweeping green across Tracey’s face. Like most of the other Slytherins with long hair, hers was pinned back, though Harry still managed to coat a few stray strands. “It’s cold!”

“Meads said the warm version won’t come off easy,” Harry explained. Seventh-years Gertrude Meads and Titus Mitcham had brewed the green paint to slowly shift between a soft leafy green and dark emerald. Unfortunately, the modification to make it safe to wear (rather than use on canvas) kept the temperature chilly.

“You won’t even notice once we’re outside,” Pansy said dismissively.

“There’s a charm to get the regular version back out,” Millicent said.

“ _Never_ use magic on your face,” Harry said.

“So you _do_ listen,” Adrian said, dropping down into the seat Gregory had vacated. She ruffled Harry’s hair, somehow managed not to smear his face paint, but got paint in his hair all the same thanks to the streaks of green and silver on her hands. “Will wonders never cease.”

“What do _you_ want?” Pansy snapped.

Adrian grinned, her own half-mask of paint crinkling around her eyes. “Miles says hurry it up, we’re all leaving for breakfast together.” The gaggle of third-years glanced around; other groups were still finishing up their paint, and being prodded into hurrying up by other messengers. The quidditch team themselves lurked by the door, the only unadorned students in the dungeon.

The pots of green and silver and accompanying brushes passed from hand to hand back to the seventh-years. They abandoned the cauldrons and piles of tools to clean up later; everyone flooded into the dungeon halls, chatting and laughing. Adrian wriggled through the crowd to walk with Terence, ignoring a sneer from Marcus Flint and glare from Draco.

The Slytherins hissed together when they strode into the Great Hall, startling the students already there. Some of them hissed again when Hufflepuff team members showed up, but most were preoccupied with breakfast by then. Cedric Diggory, Hufflepuff team captain, paused thoughtfully by the end of their table.

“You all look very nice.”

“Thanks,” one of the first-years said, and was promptly elbowed by a yearmate.

“We’re not nice, we’re scary!”

“Oh right.” The first-year turned back to Diggory. “We’re a viper pit! You don’t wanna fall in this!”

“I’ll be sure not to,” Diggory said, smiling broadly. “Right frightening, you are.” He nodded to Marcus and strode off to the Hufflepuff table.

“Bloody enigmatic wanker,” Peregrine Derrick muttered.

Half the house left when the team did, providing an honor guard. Harry lingered over his toast and caught Hermione in the entrance hall. At first he thought she was dressing neutrally with just her school robes, and then he noticed her lack of hat, scarf, and cloak.

“You’re not coming to the match?”

“Oh, but it’s the perfect time to really-” Hermione smothered a yawn. “Really got some work done.”

“If you’re sure…”

Hermione smiled, and went back upstairs. Harry turned to go outside and nearly walked straight into Ginny Weasley. She’d painted her face with black and white badger stripes; across the hall, all her brothers but Percy sported badger stripes as well. Ron glared past Harry at the stairs Hermione had just vanished up. Harry bit back the urge to yell rude words at him.

“You look…pretty,” Ginny said solemnly, eyeing his painted scales. If the smudge still on his thumb was any indication, they should be shifting from light leafy green to pickled cucumber now. “Not cute,” she added, corner of her lips twitching.

“Not like a puffskein?”

“No.” Ginny’s face broke out in a smile. “Your hair’s messier than that.”

They all walked down to the pitch together, Fred and George trying to hiss at Harry and snickering too much to do it right, and parted ways at the stands.

“What took you?” Adrian asked, when Harry edged into the seat between her and Hirohisa at the back.

“Did I miss anything?” Harry asked.

“Nobody’s even on the field yet,” Hirohisa pointed out.

“But the badgers did a pretty catchy pre-game song,” Adrian said. She hummed a bar under her breath, drumming on her knees, and Harry laughed. “What?”

“They sang _We Will Rock You_?”

“It’s got a name?”

Hirohisa chimed in with a few lyrics. “Got blood on your face, you big disgrace, waving your banner all over the place?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Harry grinned. “It’s a Muggle song, heard it on the radio at Mrs. Figg’s.” Mass hissing overrode any further discussion as the Slytherin team strolled onto the pitch. The fifth-years pulled out their poster to cheer on Terence, **HIGGS** in big bold letters with little goal hoops sticking out of the H and I. Down at the front of the stands, Vincent and Millicent held up either end of Pansy’s _Go Draco!_ banner.

Diggory _almost_ got the Snitch early on, when both teams had scored twice; with no Bludger nearby, Lucian Bole flung himself in Diggory’s path, sending both of them crashing to the ground and earning a five-minute time-out and the first penalty of the game.

Thanks to the power of exhaustive drilling and extreme stubbornness, Terence was now as good a Keeper as he’d been a Seeker, though still not up to his skill as a Chaser. He couldn’t compensate entirely for all the penalty goals, but today was miles above his performance in January. When Hufflepuff Chaser Heidi Macavoy took her free shot (earned when Marcus elbowed a Beater in the gut) Terence swung around on his broom and kicked the Quaffle back so fast it got Macavoy right in the face.

“Gotta hand it to Derrick,” Adrian said grudgingly partway through the match. “He’s actually working pretty well with Bole.” Peregrine and Lucian’s focused their Beating skills on driving the Hufflepuff Chasers away from either goal post, leaving Terence to only cope with penalty shots, and forcing Keeper Anthony Rickett to protect the Hufflepuff scoring zone on his own. “But that mustache is still the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen,” she added.

Draco lived up to his earlier swaggering, catching the Snitch after a spectacular dive that even Harry had to admire, securing Slytherin’s place in the running for the Cup. Adrian vaulted over the other students to beat everyone to the stairs and dash down them. Harry found her again outside the locker room, going over the match with Terence, and promptly lost sight of them both as the cheering mob of green and silver swept the team back to the dungeon to celebrate their win.

The jubilant celebration made Harry feel eleven again. Sixth and seventh-years passed him by with cheering first-years on their shoulders, Theodore grabbed his and Daphne’s hands to run through the crowd laughing, Pansy’s court swarmed around her with streamers flying from their wands. Now though, he knew the barrels of butterbeer rolled out of the sleeping chambers into the common room had been purchased by Mildred Peebles at Hogsmeade, and kept fresh with Zubeida Khan’s excellent preservation charm; that the crackers full of candy and fireworks were ordered by owl post and carefully stashed in trunks and wardrobes, or pocketed during family Christmas parties; that the beautiful serpentine windsock winding through the ceiling lamps was kept in a secret cupboard behind the announcements board.

Agnes Monkleigh fled her windowsill when the rest of the house returned, darting into the sleeping chambers as the roar of exuberant noise crashed into the dungeon. Harry tapped Tabitha Bainbridge’s shoulder partway into the celebration. She squeaked.

“Um, would you mind seeing if Agnes wants a butterbeer, before it’s all gone?”

“That jumpy firstie?” Tabitha blinked, and nodded. “No problem.” She reappeared a few minutes later and shot Harry a thumbs-up. He nodded a thanks from his perch on the back of a tall armchair, Daphne and Theodore popping crackers on the seat the only thing keeping it from tipping back as Harry leaned, trying to sketch the serpentine windsock from a better angle.

“Why don’t you just get a camera?” Theodore asked.

“Might,” Harry said. He heard a shutter click somewhere in the common room, from one of the few Slytherins who shared Colin Creevey’s photographic passion. “Need to learn charms to make it unbreakable, first,” he added, thinking of his old burnt copy of _A History of Magic_ , still tucked into the bottom of his trunk.

“Of course we’ll win the Cup,” Marcus Flint bragged loudly from a nearby chair. “It’s all about strategy and a good team, and you saw how well getting rid of the bad blood worked out-”

“Ugh,” Harry said, and slipped off the back of the armchair. He shoved his sketchbook under this arm and wriggled back into the crowd, passing a few first years still chanting “we won!” and the debris of popped crackers, finally stopping when he almost walked into Mathilda Greenford transfiguring a chair and two ottomans into a fainting couch.

“Come on, Farley,” Yurika said. “Give us some verse!”

“Can you do Narcissus, again?” Miles Bletchley asked. “It’s been _ages_ since you did that one.”

“Go bug someone else,” Gemma said, sitting down just as Mathilda finished her transfiguration. She popped the cork from an intricately twisted cobalt blue bottle. “I’ve got nothing in my head but NEWTs right now.”

“I’ll do one!” Grant Sparkford offered. He handed his as-yet-untouched mug of butterbeer to Yurika, stepped up onto a footstool, and bowed to her from this tiny stage. “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May-”

“Hey!” seventh year Norman Stacey pushed back from his own chair. “Don’t go doing the _Muggle_ Bard! It’s an insult to Beedle-”

“Beedle never wrote sonnets,” Grant said, crossing his arms. “Don’t interrupt, you prat.”

“And Shakespeare was a wizard anyway,” Mildred Peebles said.

“Shakespeare was _not_ a wizard,” Draco sneered, distracted from the cracker he was about to pull with Pansy. “Father wrote a _very_ persuasive column on the topic when the Crystal Theater had the nerve to put on one of his rubbish plays.”

“ _Rubbish?!_ ” Grant’s jaw dropped. “William Shakespeare’s the most brilliant playwright in the entire world, in all of history!”

“Bullshit,” Norman spat. Behind him, Miles rolled his eyes and made a wanking motion. “Quillius the First is. His take on the _Tragedy of Theutberga_ makes even people outside the theater break down in tears.”

“They’re crying because he’s meter’s shit and he can’t rhyme for beans,” Grant sneered. Yurika listened to the exchange with her brows up, sipping from Grant’s butterbeer mug. “And nobody who _only_ writes tragedies can be the _best_. Shakespeare has scope along with depth!”

“He is _so_ a wizard,” Mildred was saying to Draco, who glared at her. “Why would a Muggle have put such emphasis on prophecy in Mac-”

“ _Don’t say the name!_ ” Gemma shot out of the fainting couch and slapped her hand over Mildred’s mouth. The arguing students went silent, stunned; Gemma’s eyes were wide, starkly white against the dark emerald green face paint, mouth drawn back in a grimace of terror, cool demeanor completely gone.

“Are you...okay, Farley?” Yurika asked.

“The damn thing’s jinxed,” Gemma said. “Just call it the Scottish play, all right?” she asked. Mildred nodded, and Gemma pulled her hand away.

“Scottish play? Are we talking Shakespeare?” Adrian asked, wandering over with her arm slung over Terence’s shoulder. He held a clear glass bottle shaped like two apples fused together, complete with stems. Terence wore a relaxed, warm smile, like he had most of Harry’s first year, before the Chamber was opened, before becoming a prefect. “Cousin Bernice sent me that one about King Richard, circled the passage where Hastings gets his head lopped off.”

“Whoa,” Terence said, smile sloping down as he shaped the impressed vowels. “ _Gruesome_.”

“Well she also sent a nice little note telling me not to lose my own.” Adrian tapped her chin thoughtfully. “Pretty good box of licorice from Montreal, too.”

“Of course _your_ family reads Muggle trash,” Draco said. Pansy poked his shoulder impatiently with the unpopped cracker.

“No,” Adrian said, leaning forward to narrow her eyes at him. Terence was forced to lean forward too, and raised his eyebrows at Adrian. “We read Muggle _genius_ . As opposed to _your_ family, which would turn down a cloak in blizzard if you thought a Muggle made it, and eat a plate of shit if someone told you it came out of a-”

“ _Adrian_ ,” Gemma snapped. “He’s just a third-year.”

“Crap, right.” Adrian ran her free hand down her face, smearing the green paint. “I’m sorry, Malfoy.”

“Not as sorry as you’ll be after the duel,” Draco said. Pansy was still trying to get his attention back, bopping the unpopped cracker against his shoulder. Adrian opened her mouth to reply, snapped it shut, and grimaced at Gemma.

Gemma sighed. “Adrian, go…go keep the tower from falling down.”

“What?”

Gemma pointed to the corner between the entry way and the fireplace; half the furniture in the dungeon was piled over there, as fifth and seventh-year students tried to transfigure it all into the squashiest, most comfortable jungle-gym Harry had ever seen.

“Guess that kinda is our fault,” Terence mused. Olivia waved from the highest part of the structure. Terence’s smile made a dazzling return.

“Compare me to a summer’s day atop _that_ ,” Yurika said, taking Grant’s hand to tug him down off the footstool.

“Did I get to darling buds of May?”

“Mm.”

Grant placed one hand over his heart while his other twined in Yurika’s. “And summer’s lease has all too short a date; sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines!”

~~~

A barn owl buffeted Terence in the head as it swooped down to deliver a letter to Adrian Sunday morning. Terence groaned and pulled his hat further down over his eyes.

“First the sunlight hits me, now owls,” he moaned.

“Told you not to do the firebreathing trick,” Adrian said.

“No you didn’t,” Terence mumbled, dropping his head down into the table, crumpling the brim of his hat. “You said _Hey Vivi, wanna see Terence do something really cool_ ? and handed me the bottle. You’re the _worst_.”

“She looked pretty impressed.”

“You’re the _best_.”

Harry slid a cup of strong tea across the table to Terence and caught sight of the seal on the letter. “Committee finally get back to you?”

“Yeah” Adrian said. She handed him the letter. “Gotta let Ferdie know.”

 _Miss Pucey,_   
_Your judicial duel against Committee Champion Walden Macnair to prove the nature of the hippogriff known as “Buckebeak” shall take place on April 26_ _th_ _. As Buckbeak is considered too hazardous to transport, and must be present along with its handler, the duel will take place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Should you triumph, Buckbeak will be proven nondangerous and permitted to return to its herd, and there will be no further actions regarding this matter. Should the Committee Champion triumph, Buckbeak’s execution shall immediately follow.  As the plaintiff has the right to witness the duel and has requested the presence of their son, you will be permitted one person of your choice to accompany you. An impartial witness, non-dueling member of the Committee, Hogwarts Headmaster, and a qualified Healer shall be present as well._ _  
Sincerely,_

The list of Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures members once more ended the letter.

“If Buckbeak’s so hazardous, why didn’t they hold the first hearing here too?” Harry grumbled, handing the letter back. “Bloody stupid wasn’t it, bringing something that dangerous into the middle of London?”

Adrian grinned sharkishly without looking up, magically copying the letter onto a bit of paper ripped from her notebook. “First rule of the wizarding world, tadpole, never expect sense from the Ministry.”

“ _Excuse_ you,” Bhupen Shastri said from down the table. “Both my parents work at the Ministry!”

“That explains a lot,” Trupti Kadam said, nursing her own cup of tea.

“What about the Ministry?” Terence asked, squinting up at Harry from under his hat.

“Committee finally picked a date,” Adrian explained. “Gonna do it at Hogwarts on April twenty-sixth.”

“That’s the end of Easter hols,” Terence said, sitting back up. “You won’t miss any class!”

“It’s less than two weeks away, is what it is,” Adrian muttered.

Across the Great Hall, Hermione got up from the Gryffindor table, an apple in hand. “Gotta go,” Harry said, scrambling backwards over the bench. He caught up to her in the entrance hall. “Hermione!”

“Hm? Oh, good morning, Harry.”

“Come see Hagrid with me,” Harry said.

“I’ve really got a lot of work to do-”

“Is any of it due before break?”

“Well, no-”

“Then you’ve got time for a cup of tea,” Harry said firmly. He stood on his tiptoes and draped an arm over her shoulders, steering her outside. “Look, it’s not even raining today.”

“You’re squishing my hair. And it’s still cloudy.”

“Sorry.” Harry hastily lifted his arm away again, somewhat relieved. Hermione was still taller than him, and he hadn’t been sure he could’ve kept his arm up there long before getting pins-and-needles. Hermione didn’t turn around and go back into the castle though, so that was a win.

Buckbeak sat tethered to a fence-post at the far end of the vegetable garden, ripping happily into his breakfast steak. _Maybe I should get some sketches in_ , Harry thought, as Hermione knocked on Hagrid’s door. _Just in case_ \- no. Don’t think that. _Adrian’s gonna win. Buckbeak isn’t going anywhere._

…he should probably get some sketches in anyway.

“Good to see the yeh,” Hagrid said, pouring a fresh pot of tea. “Been in a bit of a state, wondering when- just got the letter this morning, have to bring Beaky to the duel.”

“Did they finally pick a date?” Hermione asked, interest in the case finally getting her to stop glancing in the direction of the Gryffindor tower, where her homework waited. “Do you have to take him far?”

“It’s gonna be here,” Harry said. “They wrote Adrian too, it’s the twenty-sixth.”

Hermione gasped. “That’s next Friday!”

“Yeah.”

“Shouldn’t be doing this,” Hagrid said, shaking his head over his own mug of tea. “Too dangerous.”

“I dunno, we beat Lockhart,” Harry said. Hermione shot him a _look_ ; she’d been told all about that, and knew Adrian had spent half the fight unconscious. Fang dropped his head on Harry’s knee. Harry stroked his ears absently. “Adrian’s got a pretty good full-body bind.”

“Her folks oughtta be stoppin’ this,” Hagrid insisted.

“Shunpike’s notified her Uncle Alvie,” Harry said. “Owl might not find him for ages though.” He scratched under Fang’s chin. “Do you wanna play checkers? I’m kinda sick of chess.”

~~~

The final Patronus lesson was the next evening; it would have been the previous Monday had Lupin not been knocked out by a brief illness. With nine of the ten students studying for OWLs and Lupin preparing for first, second, third, fourth, and sixth year’s regular exams, the professor chose to discontinue the class after the Easter holidays.

Harry had completely forgotten they were having another party; he walked into the choir hall after dinner expecting to battle the boggart, and found Professor Lupin inflating translucent balloons. The gramophone was back on the podium, and snacks and lemonade spread across a conjured table.

“Cor, professor,” Lennox said, walking in with Shimizu. “It’s like a giant bubble bath!” The balloons drifted across the floor, piling up against the wall opposite the windows, blown by a near indiscernible draft. Within minutes of everyone arriving, their patronuses were frolicking through the room, casting a silver glow through the balloons. Lupin started the first record spinning with a flick of his wand, and the students joined their patronuses, dancing around the choir hall.

When Ormskirk, Tsuji, and Harwich released Harry from a four-person dance, he sat down next to Lupin on the stone tiers ringing the back half of the room, a little ways above the balloons.

“Enjoying yourself, Harry?” Lupin asked.

In answer, Harry cast his patronus, now fully corporeal like all the other students’, and watched the silver form leap over the dancers.

“I’m very proud of all of you,” Lupin said quietly. “Only a few NEWT students in my day could consistently achieve the clarity you’ve mastered.”

“You must not’ve had a teacher like ours, sir,” Harry said, beaming.

Lupin smiled. “…thank you.”

~~~

Yet _another_ owl unaffiliated with the Daily Prophet dropped off a large, thick envelope for Adrian the last day of classes before break. She smiled fondly at the seal, a large gothic letter C with five tiny stars inside. “Guess Cousin Brianna finally got word to Cecily about last year-” she cut herself off as she read the letter, eyes going wide, and frantically fished through the envelope again. “No way.” She pulled out two embossed pieces of cardstock, shaped like movie tickets but four times as large. “ _No way_. I’m dreaming. No way. Terence, Terence hit me!”

Terence obligingly slugged Adrian in the shoulder.

“Ow!” She grinned. “It’s _real_ , my god, I’m going to the Cup!”

This provoked an immediate flurry of interest from their nearest tablemates, and a groan of disappointment from Terence. “Have to tell me all about it when you get back, mate. Mum’s already booked our family trip for the year.”

“Haven’t you been to it twice?”

“Yeah,” Terence said, sighing. “But I barely remember the first one.”

“Pipsqueak, you can get outta that madhouse again, right?” Adrian asked Harry excitedly. “Cousin Cecily sent me _two tickets_.”

“For what?”

“For the Quidditch World Cup!” all the eavesdroppers chorused.

“I’m going,” Gideon said. “It’s once every four years, Da saves like mad for it.”

“My grandfather got us all tickets this year,” Trupti said. “And a new tent, too, our old one’s not up to his standards anymore.”

“Tent?” Harry asked.

“The cheaper your seat, the earlier you have to show up,” Gideon explained. “And even top-box people who show up day-of have to be prepared ‘cause you never know how long it’s gonna go.”

“This says we gotta show up a little over a week ahead,” Adrian said, reading the pamphlet that came with the tickets. “Cecily never RSVP’d, we gotta do that ASAP to say where we’re coming from, they gotta arrange all the Portkeys out to the site. Diagon Alley sound good?”

“Ah…”

“I’ll pick you up,” Adrian went on. “Two weeks before the match, we can get all our books and stay at the Leaky a couple days, ‘cause it might go long enough that we gotta go straight from the match to King’s Cross.”

“They might not let me,” Harry said cautiously. “They won’t even sign my Hogsmeade letter.”

“I’ll just kidnap you, then,” Adrian said, waving one hand dismissively. She grinned at his look of alarm. “Come on, Hogsmeade is fun while you’re already away! _This_ is getting you out from underfoot three weeks ahead of schedule.”

Harry nodded, shrugging, that was true enough. “Aunt Petunia won’t like you picking me up though. I can meet you in Diagon Alley-”

“Not with Black on the loose,” the eavesdroppers chimed in again.

Adrian grinned at Harry’s wince and ruffled his hair. “Aunt Liwei’ll come with me to get you, they won’t say no to _her_.”

~~~

Terence and Harry spent their free hours leading up to the break helping Adrian practice _Stupefy!_   _Protego!_ and _Expelliarmus!_ in an old classroom in the Charms wing. Shunpike’s letters said judicial duels ended when one participant either yielded or was unable to wield their wand (which, in practicality, meant death, unconsciousness, or physical incapacitation). _Expelliarmus_ wasn’t an ending move, since your opponent could tackle you to get their wand back, but it sure wouldn’t hurt your chances. Most of their practice sessions resembled an aerobics class; after all her time on the Quidditch pitch, Adrian was a lot better at dodging hexes than blocking them.

Hermione showed up once with a book of dueling spells, determined to help, but Terence took one look at the dark bags under her eyes and told her to go take a nap. “Percy told me how many classes you’re in,” he said, when she tried to protest. “We can handle this, Gryffindor.”

The house unity gained through Quidditch dissolved rapidly in light of Draco’s supporters and the Care of Magical Creatures OWL students sniping at each other in the lead-up to the duel. Harry was glad to get away from it, holing up with Terence and Adrian in the old Charms classroom from breakfast to dinner once Easter break began. Their mounds of homework lay abandoned in their respective dorms. If they were lucky, they could cram through it the weekend after the duel. Adrian also kept up her attempts at summoning her wand back, but the most it ever did was roll, and that might’ve been because Harry bumped the desk.

Gemma and the other seventh-year prefect dragged a table over to the announcements board halfway through break and spread hundreds of pamphlets over it. Gemma tacked up a pale green bit of parchment edged with silver right in the middle of the board; fifth-years would be meeting with their head of house for career counseling after the break.

“They did this during winter term in my parents’ day,” Gideon said, rifling through the pamphlets. Adrian snaked her arm under his to nab copies of all the professional Quidditch teams’ flyers.

“Grandmother says in _her_ great-great grandfather’s day, the prefects sat all the second-years down with these to help pick their elective classes,” Heather Thatcham said. She flipped past pamphlets with growing frustration. “Anyone seen the one for WADA?”

“What?”

“Wizarding Academy of the Dramatic Arts.”

Mathilda, nose buried in one titled _Institute of Transformative Textiles; Where Fashion Takes Flight!_ , tapped Heather’s shoulder with the WADA pamphlet. Terence took dozens, perusing them during breaks in their dueling practice. By Thursday evening, he’d returned all but two on teaching and journalism to the table.

~~~

Friday April 26th dawned with a light overcast. An official note had arrived Thursday morning, instructing Adrian to meet everyone else involved in the entrance hall at one-thirty.

Terence arrived late to breakfast, tugging at his hair from stress, something Harry had never seen him do before.

“Adrian, I can’t come with you!” Terence exclaimed. “They’ve picked the bloody _paddock_ to hold the duel in, Dumbledore got a letter last night, and with Malfoy running his mouth all week everyone’s talking about coming down to watch!”

“What?” Adrian asked, aghast. “Misaimed hexes won’t suddenly fizzle out at the fence!”

“That’s why I can’t come,” Terence explained. “Me and the other prefects are all being roped into keeping everyone back. Flitwick and McGonagall are holding gobstones and chess tournaments today, I’ve been running around trying to tell everyone about it, they’re trying to distract the younger kids. I think the Headmaster is making an announcement about a temporary out of bounds zone at lunch, worthy of detention, but you know it won’t keep everyone away.”

Terence threw himself onto the bench and started shoveling down breakfast. Adrian looked at the remains of hers, taking a deep breath. “It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right,” Terence said. “I said I’d be there! I’m sorry, Adrian.”

“I can go,” Harry said.

“And get hit with a stray jinx?” Adrian said, starting to shake her head.

“I’ll just stand behind the Malfoys,” Harry said, and Terence choked on his hashbrowns. “You’re not doing this alone, Adrian.”

“I guess not.” She grinned crookedly at him. “Be ready to cast _protego_ , eh? Macnair was… _acquainted_ with my mother. This could get messy.”

“Wazzat mean?” Terence asked.

“Nothing important,” Adrian said dismissively.


	14. Higher, Higher, Higher We Go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the chapter that requires the gore warning, along with our usual canon-typical violence and disturbing imagery.

Hermione rushed up to them in the entrance hall after lunch, plaits undone, dark circles under her eyes. She grabbed both of Adrian’s hands and looked up into her face. “You- you know you can back out, right? We can do the appeal, I wrote to Mr. Shunpike and he said it’s still an option-”

“It’s really not, Granger,” Adrian said. She drew her hands back and patted Hermione on the shoulder. “Go on back up to your tower, all right?”

“I want to help-”

The school’s front door burst open, and the dueling party strode in. Dumbledore lead the way, having let the others through the gates, chatting amiably with Minister Fudge and a stooped, withered wizard whose wispy beard trailed along the floor. Lucius Malfoy followed along with a sturdy middle-aged wizard sporting an even sturdier mustache, wearing elbow-length leather gloves, and tapping idly on the large axe stuck through his belt.

“That’s _barbaric_ ,” Hermione gasped. Quiet though she’d been, Malfoy glanced towards them, and directed the mustached wizard’s attention their way. Both of them sneered, and the idle tapping turned into a fond stroke along the blade.

“Trust me,” Adrian said, stepping to the side, putting herself between Hermione and the adults. “Staying out of this _is_ helping.” Hermione bit her lip, and then flung her arms around Adrian. The older student jerked, startled, then tentatively hugged Hermione back. “Go on, kid,” she whispered. “Get outta here.”

“It’s gonna be okay, ‘Mione,” Harry said. Hermione hugged him too before running upstairs, passing Madam Pomfrey.

“Headmaster, I _must_ protest,” Pomfrey said, bustling across the hall, a small basket tucked under her arm, marked with the same Rod of Asclepius embroidered on the back of her robes. “First dementors filling up my infirmary-”

“Filling up the infirmary?” Fudge asked, clutching his lime green bowler to his chest.

“I believe I wrote you of their invasion of the grounds this fall?” Dumbledore said mildly.

“Yes, yes,” Fudge said. “And I have been assured the incident has not reoccurred.”

“Nor has Sirius Black’s attempt on the school, far earlier than the dementors’ break from their orders.”

“Yes, well,” Fudge said nervously, putting the bowler back on his head. “Better safe than sorry.”

Draco slipped out of the Great Hall and darted over to his father. Lucius Malfoy turned imperiously towards Fudge. “If everyone is here, Minister, shall we proceed?” After a chorus of agreement, the entire party strode across the grounds. Harry and Adrian found themselves bracketed between Dumbledore and Pomfrey, the later of whom muttered uncharitable things about the Ministry, the Committee, and the Headmaster the entire time. Dumbledore’s lips curved in a smile when Pomfrey called him a “hubristically optimistic old beard-rack”.

F.E. Shunpike was slouching against the paddock fence when they arrived, scratching Buckbeak under the chin and talking with Hagrid. None of the other adults seemed surprised to see him, nor did they tell him to leave, so Harry assumed he’d wormed his way into the proceedings somehow.

“It’s not happening _here_ ,” Pomfrey said, stopping short.

“It has been agreed-” the stooped wizard began.

“Right out in the open, where anyone can be hit?”

“We have instructed the student body to stay away, Poppy,” Dumbledore said.

Pomfrey planted her free hand on her hip and glared at him. “Except for the ones you’re letting _do_ this ridiculous stunt, of course! Tell me, Headmaster, do you not see the binoculars in the trees?” She gestured widely; there was a guilty rustling in the foliage.

Draco stretched up on tiptoe to whisper in his father’s ear. Lucius Malfoy straightened up. “Perhaps you would find the Quidditch pitch more secure, Madam Pomfrey?”

Adrian twitched, but didn’t protest as the adults tossed the idea back and forth before agreeing. Hagrid took up Buckbeak’s tether to lead him to the pitch, and spotted Harry; like Pomfrey a moment before, he stopped short.

“Harry! What’re yeh _doin’_ here?”

“He’s my witness,” Adrian said quickly. Shunpike nodded approvingly. Hagrid looked stricken.

Introductions were finally made at the Quidditch pitch while Fudge painstakingly outlined a large, glowing purple circle in the middle of the field. Fudge had come to act as the impartial witness, taking the opportunity to check in with the school on the Sirius Black situation. The ancient wizard was Numitor Davis, member in good standing of the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures, as was Committee executioner and champion Walden Macnair. Shunpike conjured up a table and bowed Davis towards it with a sweep of his hand. Davis stepped tremulously forward and laid a long sheet of parchment on the table.

“A’ight, everyone better sign this fing,” Shunpike said, rubbing his hands together. Harry read over Adrian’s shoulder as she hunched down to sign as Buckbeak’s champion. It repeated the original hearing’s findings, the rules of judicial dueling, the different reasons for everyone’s presences, Buckbeak’s two potential fates, and finally a statement that everyone here saw Buckbeak was present. Harry signed last, writing “witness” in parentheses like Draco and the Minister had done.

Davis checked a pocket-watch larger than his hand. “Two o’clock, mm-hm. Duelists, you are instructed and ordered to empty your pockets, remove any cloaks, hats, or other potentially concealing articles, and roll up your sleeves. Weaponry other than wands is not allowed in the dueling circle.” Shunpike yanked the legal parchment out of the way as Macnair slammed the flat of the axe down on the table. Draco jumped.

Adrian hadn’t worn a hat, so Harry held out his so she could empty her pockets into it. She rolled the sleeves of her school uniform up to her armpits.

“Gloves are a concealing article, Walden,” Davis called out in his quavering voice when Macnair, his own sleeves rolled up just as high, stepped towards the glowing purple circle. Macnair rolled his eyes and dropped his long leather gloves on top of the axe.

“Ehem, pardon me,” Minister Fudge said. He nodded to Adrian and Macnair. “Before we begin, would either of you like to withdraw now?”

“No,” Macnair said.

“The Committee stands by its decision,” Davis added.

Adrian’s eyes darted around at the empty stands around them. She shook her head. Lucius Malfoy smiled at her, spoke in a kindly tone. “Your mother knew the value of a strategic withdrawal.”

“That’s…true.” Adrian took a deep breath, shoulders dropping down, and looked him dead in the eyes. “But I gain nothing by turning back now.” Malfoy scowled. Adrian grinned and nodded to Fudge. “I do _not_ wish to withdraw, Minister.” She ruffled Harry’s hair and shoved him towards Hagrid before walking over to the far edge of the dueling circle from Macnair.

“Duelists are reminded that the duel shall commence after they have strode ten paces from the center and bowed to each other,” Davis said. Macnair and Adrian stepped over the glowing line, each holding their wand in front of them, and walked towards the middle of the circle. Harry stood on Hagrid’s side opposite Buckbeak, clutching his hat full of Adrian’s things nervously. Tiny lights flashed from the bottommost edges of the stands; the students spying from the trees earlier had snuck in, ducking low to avoid being seen. Harry winced. Well, at least they were better protected by the wooden barrier than leaves, and could roll out of the way easier than they could’ve balanced on branches.

Buckbeak chirped. Adrian glanced over from the circle’s center, winked reassuringly at Harry, and started her ten-pace walk. Spun around the same moment as Macnair, bowed-

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ”

The duelists cast at the same time as each other, Adrian already leaping to one side as she yelled, Macnair simply leaning sharply, clearly used to spells flying at him. Buckbeak mantled in alarm; Hagrid pressed down on his collar, making soothing sounds.

“This is a duel, not a dance,” Macnair sneered, as Adrian kept skipping to the side while Macnair prowled, neither of them slowing down or losing eye contact with the other.

“Funny,” Adrian said, grinning. “I thought it was a- _Stupefy!_ ”

Now Macnair leapt aside, uttering a curse that had nothing to do with magic as Adrian’s spell hit his left arm. It hung numbly, swaying ponderously as the duelists kept circling each other. His right still held his wand tightly. Adrian’s grin grew.

“ _Expelliar-”_

“ _Furnunculignis!_ ” Macnair’s vicious hex left a bright red streak of light in the air, vanishing the moment Adrian shrieked in pain. She hadn’t dodged fast enough; the left side of her face, from cheekbone to ear, erupted in boils. Adrian made to clap a hand against her face, shrieking again the moment her palm brushed one of the boils. When she whipped her hand away, the skin of her palm was an angry red. Macnair took advantage of her distraction to aim a quick _Ennervate!_ at his numb arm.

“Should I get the axe now?” Macnair asked, laughing. Adrian stopped circling the dueling field, shifting on her feet to keep Macnair in her sights, breath coming sharp and fast. “It’ll need more sharpening after the execution; hippogriff feathers are always hell on the edge-”

Adrian abruptly snapped her wand to the right. “ _Stupefy!_ ” Macnair dodged as easily as before, laughing again. But this time Adrian changed her aim as soon as the last syllable left her lips, sending the next curse exactly where she wanted it: Macnair’s right arm.

“ _SCHISDERMA!_ ”

A sickly pink light shot through the air, impacting with a nasty _squelch_. For a brief moment, Macnair was still laughing; then his wand and executioner’s glove fell to the ground. Laughter turned into screams. Hagrid clapped one enormous hand over Harry’s eyes.

Oh.

Right.

Macnair wasn’t _wearing_ the gloves; they were still over on the table with the axe.

“Do you yield?”

Adrian’s voice was tight, no trace of the grin now.

“Of course he yields!” Davis yelled, voice high, horrified. “He can’t hold a wand now, it’s over!”

“He’s got his other arm still,” Adrian said. Harry ducked out from under Hagrid’s hand.  Adrian pointed her wand steadily at Macnair, who had dropped to his knees, clutching his right arm just above the elbow with his left; all his skin formerly covering the limb from elbow crook to fingertip was a disgusting heap of loose flesh on the ground, leaving the arm red and raw.

“Father, what’s-”

“ _Quiet_ , Draco.” Malfoys’ voice shook. He clutched Draco to himself, pressing his son’s face into his robes, half-turned as though expecting a hex to come their way as well. Harry skipped to the side before Hagrid could think of doing the same thing, and bumped into Shunpike.

“ _Do! You! Yield!”_ Adrian bellowed, briefly drowning out the screams.

“Let him up!” Davis shrieked. “For Merlin’s sake he’s getting blood everywhere!”

“I read the damn rules, he has to say it or actually be incapacitated!” Adrian yelled back. “Do you want me to just do the other arm and get it over with?”

“ _I yiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiieeeeld!_ ” Macnair screamed, gaining enough control of his voice to turn his cries of agony into the one word that might end it, panicked he would lose both arms.

Adrian immediately lowered her wand. The glowing purple circle vanished. Madam Pomfrey pushed forward, pointing her own wand at Macnair. “ _Pagosmoudi._ ” Crystalline ice burst from the end of Pomfrey’s wand, spinning in the air like a miniature cyclone, and thickly coated the bloody arm. Macnair stopped screaming, sobbing in great gasps instead. “Thank you, thank you-”

“We need to get him to the hospital wing,” Minister Fudge said. He was very pale, and a little green. His voice wobbled like a bowl of banana pudding. He’d crushed the lime bowler hat between his hands.

“This man is neither student nor staff,” Madam Pomfrey said firmly. She summoned light blue bandages from her basket, and wrapped them around Macnair’s arm, covering the magical ice completely. “St. Mungo’s can fix him up perfectly well. If you will excuse me, I have an injured student to attend to.” With that, she strode quickly over to the edge of the far edge of the Quidditch pitch, where Adrian was vomiting.

“Go on,” Shunpike said quietly. “We only need the Minister to sign, and then I’ll get us a duplicate.” Harry ran after Pomfrey, hearing Dumbledore’s voice raised behind him, “Hagrid, please do see Buckbeak back to the school herd while I see our visitors out…” Harry fell to his knees next to Adrian, pressing his hat over his nose when the smell of vomit and hot flesh hit him.

“It’s all right, dear,” Madam Pomfrey said, in a much quieter, gentler voice than she had address the adults, putting a hand on Adrian’s shoulder. “It’s a very common boil hex, the antidote is up in my store room.”

Adrian clutched at her stomach with one hand, and wiped her mouth with the back of the other. She winced as she accidentally brushed the leading edge of the boil-covered skin.

“Come on, up you get,” Madam Pomfrey kept talking quietly as she clasped Adrian’s elbow. “I’ve treated three students for this hex this year alone and I expect at least two more before exams are done. Nasty, cruel, immature spell, I keep telling them to take that book out of the regular collection. Don’t worry, the antidote’s very good. You won’t even scar.”

“If that’s nasty and cruel,” Adrian muttered, letting Madam Pomfrey pull her up. “What do you call what I did?”

“Effective?” Harry offered, voice muffled behind the hat, hating how shaky he sounded.

“I can walk fine, you know,” Adrian muttered, but Madam Pomfrey kept a firm hold on her arm just the same. “And the boils coulda been effective, mighta blinded me if I weren’t so good at dodging Bludgers.”

“They would _not_ have blinded you!” Madam Pomfrey interjected. “Did you _not_ hear me say how often I treat the victims of that hex? It cannot affect eyes, eyelids, the mouth, or the skin at the front of the nostrils. It if did, the horrid book it comes from would be in the _Restricted Section_ , not the main collection, and I would be saved the trouble of petitioning the Headmaster to move it, thank you very much!”

“Oh,” Adrian said. She remained silent for the rest of the journey, and for the duration of Madam Pomfrey’s ministrations in the hospital wing. The antidote proved to be a pungent blue salve, which Pomfrey smeared on the affected half of Adrian’s face and the reddened skin of her hand, before covering both with bandages. Harry sat quietly on the chair next to the bed, lining the usual mess from Adrian’s pockets up on the nightstand. Adrian had tried to sit in the chair, but Pomfrey insisted she take the bed, even if she just sat on the edge instead of lying down.

“Don’t take these off yourself,” Pomfrey instructed, fusing the ends of the bandage on Adrian’s hand together with the tip of her wand. “I’d rather you stay here overnight, but I know you Quidditch players-”

“I’ll stay,” Adrian said quickly, surprising Pomfrey. She grinned weakly up at Harry. “Mind getting my homework for me? No, no wait, ask Terence to get it, you probably don’t want to be down in the common room with Malfoy just now.”

“Adrian!” Face ashen, Terence burst into the infirmary. “Malfoy’s saying-” He spotted the bandages and broke into a run.

“Mr. Higgs-!”

“Sorry, Madam Pomfrey.” Terence stumbled, trying to slow down, and caught himself on the end of Adrian’s hospital bed a mattress. “Is she-?”

“I’m fine,” Adrian said dryly, waving her bandaged hand stiffly. “It’s just a fashion statement, Mathilda’s gonna be jealous she didn’t think of it first. What’s the little nit saying now?”

“That Macnair put you in the hospital wing.”

“Well, I put Macnair in St. Mungo’s.” Adrian’s grin distorted the bandages around her face, turned sickly. She gulped and looked away. Pomfrey sniffed disapprovingly, though of _who_ Harry wasn’t quite sure. “Could you two bring me my homework?”

“Yeah, sure.” Terence grabbed Harry’s arm and dragged him out into the hall so fast he didn’t have time to grab his emptied hat off the nightstand. “Right. What _happened?_ ”

“You know how you said the paddock was way too open?” Harry said, as they walked rapidly towards the dungeons. Terence nodded. “They moved it at the last minute to the Quidditch pitch.”

“ _Shit_.” Terence’s hands jerked up, but he forced them back down before he could start tugging at his hair again. “What happened to her face?”

“Boil hex, Pomfrey said her salve’ll fix it-”

“Furnunculus? That’s not too bad-”

“Furnuncul _ignis_.”

Terence winced. “How’d she win?”

“How’d you know she won?”

“Malfoy wasn’t bragging, that’s how.”

“Right.” Harry licked his lips, thinking. This really wasn’t his to tell, but…with the hidden spectators, and Draco already talking, there was no way Terence would hear this first from Adrian. Especially since she’d sent them off after _homework_ instead of talking. “Okay. She ripped all the skin off Macnair’s wand arm.”

Terence stopped in the middle of the hall. “She did _what_?”

“She ripped-”

“ _Je t’ai entendu. Mon dieu._ ”

“…what?”

“Sorry. I said I heard you. Shit. We never practiced anything like _that_.”

“I know.”

“Your Gryffindor didn’t grab a book from the Restricted Section, did she?”

“No. And you sent her away, remember?”

“Yeah.” Terence started walking again. “ _Mon dieu_ , where did she _learn_ that?”

“Is that French? I’ve never heard you do that before.”

“Mm.”

They rounded a corner and nearly walked into Olivia Shardlow. “Is it over?” Olivia asked. “Gobstones is still going, but McGonagall’s worried the chess tournament’s breaking up.”

“It’s over, Adrian won,” Terence said.

“Merlin, that’s a relief,” Olivia said. “She off celebrating?”

“No, Pomfrey’s being a mother hen over some boils,” Terence said. He put on a big smile, sliding his hands into his pockets. “You mind grabbing Adrian’s homework before she goes batty from boredom up there? She forgot I can’t get into your dorm.”

“You could if you were clever enough,” Olivia teased. “Yeah, I’ll get it. Pass the news onto McGonagall for me.”

“Of course.”

~~~

Word of the winning hex spread fast enough that Olivia was the only other person to visit Adrian before she left the infirmary. Desperately trying to get his neglected homework done in the library with Hermione, Daphne, and Theodore (who risked Pince’s wrath by keeping Leofflaed in the cowl of his robes while they worked), Harry only heard snippets.

“You remember when she threatened to rip Peregrine’s face off last year? When he called her a lackey?”

“Just that dumb little mustache, not his _face_.”

“She had her wand to his _throat_ , don’t tell me she wasn’t gonna kill him.”

Adrian slouched into lunch on Saturday directly from the infirmary, bookbag half-buckled and face freshly bandaged. Her hand was unwrapped and unmarred; she wiggled her fingers for Terence, demonstrating that she was _fine, you worrywart_ , before bolting lunch down and heading to the library as well.

“Had some kinda tiff with the Malfoys this summer didn’t she?”

“Yeah, there was that Howler back in September. I almost forgot.”

“Like Pucey ever gave a damn for some hippogriff.”

The few students that bothered going home for Easter hols came back on the Hogwarts Express that evening, while Adrian was getting checked over by Pomfrey. When she walked into the Great Hall for the tail end of dinner, face back to normal, little whispering knots of students at all four tables fell silent and stared. Gemma Farley rolled her eyes and scooted down to make room on the bench; when they saw Adrian heading for the offered seat, the first years on the other side scrambled away, leaving their deserts untouched.

“My cousin works at St. Mungo’s, said he hasn’t seen a hex that cruel in a decade.”

“Kept Macnair on the ground after she won, just letting him scream.”

“Reckon she’d’ve just let him bleed out, if Dumbledore hadn’t been there.”

The whispers died down when classes resumed, but the sidelong looks and wide berths remained. It felt like Hagrid was the only cheery person in the castle. He demonstrated the proper way to feed augurey hatchlings for their first class back (“Found the nest in one o’ the trees near the path, summat ate the poor things’ momma.”) and mentioned that he was getting some sort of “niffler” exercise ready for the fourth years.

“Takin’ the fifth-years out to meet the thestrals tomorrow,” Hagrid added to Harry after class ended. “They been doin’ good with their readin’, but yeh can’t beat meetin’ a creature to really learn it proper!”

“What’re thestrals?”

“Ah, yeh’ll find out fifth-year, won’t you?” Hagrid said cheerfully. Absolutely sure they’d read the name before, Hermione and Harry poured through _The Monster Book of Monsters_ after dinner. Adrian studied for OWLs at a table in a dark corner at the very back of the library, much to the dismay of several couples looking for a spot to snog.

_The Monster Book of Monsters_ didn’t have an index, but _did_ have a table of contents. Unfortunately the author had decided to divide the book up by themes that were very clear to _them_ , and completely random to everyone else. Finally Harry just started going through the book page by page while Hermione worked on her Charms essay.

“Found it!” At first Harry thought he’d accidentally touched the illustration to show the muscular-skeletal structure underneath the thestral’s skin; then he realized the illustration was still in watercolor. This was not stringy blue-black muscles, this was a blue-black coat stretched over a horse-skeleton. Running his finger along the illustration simply made the thestral snarl and unfold its great bat-wings, their silhouette covering half the text. Harry hastily folded the wings back up; the skeletal ribcage was far more disturbing than even the pointy, carnivorous teeth.

“Goodness,” Hermione said quietly. “And the fifth-years are _meeting_ those?”

“Must be out in the Forbidden Forest.” He hoped. The very first paragraph said thestrals were invisible to all but those who had witnessed another person’s death. A flying, invisible creature could be _anywhere_ on the grounds. Harry glanced nervously at the window. “…I really hope they’re not as touchy as hippogriffs.”

“No, look.” Hermione pointed to a line to text directly under the watercolor thestral’s hoof. “They’re even gentler than real horses, and if you keep them fed properly they can be trained out of hunting their own food. I expect that’s why we’ve never heard of them bothering the owls and familiars, Hagrid must stuff them silly. Like he did with Norbert.”

“Probably trying to make less boney,” Harry agreed. He shut the book and swapped his Charms essay with Hermione’s for editing.

Adrian didn’t show up for dinner the next day. Harry didn’t see her in the library, either, when he was going over Transfiguration with Hermione, but Terence marched him back down to the dungeon just before curfew.

“Trust me, you do _not_ want a detention eating up your study time.”

Terence promptly went on patrol with Gemma. Theodore was swinging a string for Leofflaed to play with at an end-table near the middle of the room, in good view of the entrance archway, so Harry settled in at the next chair over and started sketching them. Older students trickled in as the later curfews approached.

“I can’t believe those things pull the _carriages_.”

Harry slowed down his pencil strokes, tilted his head just the slightest bit to listen better. _Don’t stop moving. Don’t draw attention to yourself. Don’t_ **_look._ **

“I’m just glad we didn’t have to feed them like those augurey hatchlings. I don’t fancy getting raw steak all over my hands.”

“Ugh, yeah. You know who I think’d _like_ feeding thestrals? Adrian. Always see her petting them every year. And here I just thought petting something _invisible_ was creepy.”

“Did you see her face when Mr. Hagrid told us about the death thing?”

“Well that’s what she gets for not doing the reading before class. You wouldn’t catch _me_ off guard for something like that!”

“Who d’you think she saw die?”

“Forget that, who do you think she _killed_?”

_Snap._

Theodore glanced over, making a face at the broken graphite pencil in Harry’s hand. “You startled Leofflaed.”

“Sorry.” Harry got out his wand and repaired the pencil as the two fifth-years gathered up their things and went to bed. They were the first of many; by the time Adrian finally slipped back into the dungeon, over an hour past the seventh-years’ curfew, barely a dozen people were left. Harry held up one hand, wiggling his fingers in a tired wave, graphite smudges shining in the firelight. Adrian nodded in lieu of a _hello_ , and made a beeline for the dormitories, walking slightly lopsided from the bulging bookbag slung over one shoulder. It looked fit to burst, seams stretched tight, latest Daily Prophet sticking out from under the flap.

A jam of chairs and tables forced her to swerve closer to the fireplace, and Titus Mitcham called out to her just as she passed by. “Pucey, a word?”

Adrian stopped walking, shoulders hunching up just a bit, more of a twitch, not enough for anyone who didn’t know her to notice. She forced them down and turned around, looking at Titus with a carefully neutral expression. “If it’s a _quick_ word, Mitcham.” She pointedly stifled a yawn.

“I just need a pointer,” Titus said. From his vantage a few yards away, even Harry could see how utterly fake Titus’s smile was. Adrian’s neutral expression didn’t change, but she slipped one hand casually into her pocket.

“You’ve got NEWTs, right?” Adrian said. She drummed her fingers against the strap of her bookbag. “I’m only studying for OWLs…” Her eyes darted around the common room, and Harry realized uneasily that all the prefects were gone, and all of the remaining Slytherins were watching Titus and Adrian just as intently as Harry was.

“It’s extracurricular,” Titus said, and his smile turned into more of a smirk. “I was wondering which section of the library I should look in, for that skinning hex. Dueling? Medical? Cuisine?”

Adrian stopped drumming her fingers, and narrowed her eyes.

“Maybe the Restricted Section?” Titus asked. Adrian didn’t answer; she turned around and took one step towards the dormitories. Titus grabbed her arm. Harry dropped his sketchbook and stood up. Theodore grabbed his sleeve and hissed at him “Are you _insane?_ His father’s on the Wizangamot!”

“Not in the library, then?” Titus’s smirk grew. “Takes _personal instruction_ to learn?”

“Let go.”

“Teach me the hex, Pucey.”

“Piss off.”

“I know your mother taught you more,” Titus said, and laughed. “I got to hear _all about_ it when they tried your lunatic cousin. Father voted _against_ sending him to Azkaban, you know.”

“Good for him,” Adrian snarled, finally twisting around to look at Titus. “Let go of my fucking arm, Mitcham, or do you fancy a broken nose?”

“Come _on_ , Pucey,” Titus snapped, losing his smug tone. Leofflaed started chewing on Theodore’s Arithmancy homework, forcing him to let of go Harry’s sleeve to scoop her up. Harry immediately slipped through the jumble of furniture towards the altercation. “I can’t find it anywhere,” Titus went on. “And I want to _know_.”

“Too bad.” Adrian reared her head back. Titus hastily let go of her arm and stepped away; Adrian stumbled forward and caught herself on a chair. Titus drew his wand.

“What’s your _problem_?” Harry asked, stepping between them.

“ _My_ problem?” Titus asked disbelievingly. “ _She’s_ the one keeping all the good spells to herself.”

“I wouldn’t teach you shit either, if you asked by grabbing me,” Harry said, crossing his arms.

Titus huffed. “I didn’t ask by- she was leaving!” He rolled his eyes. “Look, Pucey, I’m not asking you to teach me for _nothing_. My father is on the Wizengamot-”

“And mine’s in Azkaban,” Adrian shot back flatly.

“Mine’s dead,” Harry added. Adrian snorted, and reached out to ruffle his hair; the weight of her bookbag pulled her arm down instead as it slipped from her shoulder. The buckles finally gave way as it fell, spewing parchment, books, and quills all over the floor. Adrian blinked down at the mess. Harry moved his foot into the path of a rolling bottle of ink. They both started laughing.

Titus looked at them like they were insane.

“Come on,” Harry said, kneeling down to start picking up the mess. An empty inkbottle and half an apple had rolled under a chair. Adrian crouched down too, stacking the loose parchment, ignoring Titus looming over them.

“Why are you _helping_ her?” Titus spluttered.

“Because we’re friends?” Harry said, glancing up.

“And they said you were smart,” Titus sneered. “Friends with _Pucey?_ If her mother’d had her way, _you’d_ be as dead as your father. Didn’t she tell you? Her mother was a Death Eater.” He leaned back and crossed his arms, wand draped over one elbow, smirking, as though he’d said something shocking.

“Wow,” Harry said, as dryly as he could, grabbing the last of Adrian’s quills and standing up. “I never knew that. No one at all mentioned it last year, when they thought the Quidditch team opened the Chamber of Secrets. And the Daily Prophet absolutely did not publish a list of the Auror’s Wanted Persons this summer. Or write a speculative article about who might be harboring Sirius Black. Nope. I have never, ever heard before that Adrian’s mother is a Death Eater. It has never come up before. Wow.”

Theodore started laughing about halfway through this speech, and by the time Harry finished everyone else in the common room was too. Titus’ face grew thunderous.

“What’ll it _take_?” he growled.

“For wha- whaaat?” Adrian asked, the second word stretched out by a yawn. She stuck the Daily Prophet in her pocket, and cradled her crammed bookbag in both arms as she stood.

“For you to teach me!”

“Oh.” Adrian blinked. “Nothing.”

“What?”

“It’s not happening, Mitcham. I’ve got OWLs to study for.” Adrian slouched off into the dorms without another word, leaving Titus gaping after her.


	15. Who Made You King of Anything?

Gertrude Meads and Titus Mitcham rose early Saturday morning to brew more of their color-changing green paint for the final Quidditch match of the year. Slytherin versus Gryffindor. They’d tied for points so far this year, beating Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw by miles. Whoever won this match won the  _ Cup _ .

Pansy Parkinson and her court opted for the snake-masks again, sitting in a circle and doing each other up, but the rest of the house switched things around. Some of the seventh-years slopped paint down their mouths and chins, looking so much like Quirrell had in the Forbidden Forest that Harry couldn’t look at them. The first and second year boys mostly just gave themselves a smear across their cheekbones. Draco, Vincent, and Gregory drew waving lines from forehead to chin, like dancing snakes. Harry, seeing most of the fourth and fifth years writing team member’s initials across their faces, gave himself a large  _ TH _ on one side and a goal hoop on the other to support Terence.

Adrian walked up to the cauldrons, crowd parting around her, and stuck her hand flat down on the surface. She dragged her fingers diagonally across her face, leaving four pine-green lines, staring dead into Titus’s eyes the whole time. She wiped the leftover paint on the back of her other hand.

Gryffindor roared whenever anyone walked into the Great hall. “Copycats,” Miles Bletchley sneered.

“Nice pun,” Grant said.

“What?”

“Nevermind.”

Hermione ate breakfast between Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, stripes of crimson and gold on her face not quite disguising the dark bags under her eyes. Adrian’s long legs took her off ahead of the mob, so Harry lingered in the entrance hall to talk to Hermione for a little bit, before the Gryffindor girls steered her out to the Quidditch pitch; she kept glancing over her shoulder towards their tower.

“Roomy up here,” Harry observed, reaching Slytherin’s favored section of the stands. Ten feet of empty space surrounded Adrian along the backmost bench, and down the three rows in front of her. Harry stretched out his legs and rest his feet on the next bench down. Adrian hunched her shoulders and took twice as long as usual getting her brass binoculars open. When the team captains strode to the field’s center for the traditional handshake Adrian looked away, expression sick.

The match dragged on. And on. Snacks appeared from under hats and out of pockets. Lee Jordan took a break from his commentary to chug a throat-soothing potion and kept going.

“Lions’ Chasers are doing better,” Adrian commented once, after Dean Thomas and Katie Bell punched the Quaffle back and forth until kicking it to Angelina Johnson to score. Adrian was careful to only look straight ahead or up, staring at the stands across from them whenever  the action moved downwards towards the grass. “You think Spinnet’s gonna beat Malfoy to the Snitch?”

“Will it even matter?” Harry asked. Gryffindor was already two-hundred ahead. They wouldn’t even need to make any more goals to win now, if they kept Slytherin from scoring.

In the end, Alicia Spinnet  _ did _ catch the Snitch, and the Weasley twins hoisted her up on their shoulders for a victory lap around the pitch while Oliver Wood cried from happiness. Terence promptly chivvied the Slytherin team into the locker room the moment their feet touched the ground. He didn’t even bother dismounting himself, hovering on his broom to keep his head level with Marcus’s.

“What’s going on?” Harry asked, leaning closer to Adrian so he could keep his voice down.

“I…I’m not sure,” Adrian said. “We  _ always _ stick around the pitch, even when we lose. Celebrate or whine with everyone else.” She tapped her chin, staring down at the exit the team had vanished through, ignoring the Slytherins bustling past them towards the stairs. Despondent from the loss, their housemates were forgetting to avoid her. “Can’t just be showers, even if that performance  _ stunk-” _

“Charter acting up?” Harry suggested. He  _ still _ hadn’t read the thing all the way through.

“Fuck, you’re  _ right _ ,” Adrian gasped.

“I am?”

“Pipsqueak, that was our  _ last match _ ,” Adrian said delightedly. She stood up, tugging on Harry’s arm. “Come on, we gotta get down there!”

“What’s the rush?”

“Gotta congratulate Terence!”

“For  _ what _ ?”

“You’re a smart kid,” Adrian said. “You’ll get it.” She bounded down the stairs three at a time, until they got to a jam. Harry caught up and pondered the facts while Adrian bounced on her toes. Terence had rushed the team to the locker room, for  _ something _ to do with their charter. Gryffindor had  _ crushed _ them. Harry could still hear the lions roaring, even here in the stairwell. They’d just won the Quidditch Cup, of course they were loud. There weren’t any more games to plan or practice for, this was the last match of the year, the last match for-

“Marcus is  _ graduating _ ,” Harry said, grabbing Adrian’s elbow so she wouldn’t accidentally lose him in the crowd. The students making up the jam finally noticed  _ who _ was behind them and plastered themselves to the walls so Adrian (and Harry) could get by. “He won’t be  _ captain _ next year. He has to pick a replacement.”

“He’s picked Graham,” Adrian said. “Everyone knows that. But…?”

Harry kicked his heel against a step. “But the team has to vote?”

“As long as there’s a second nominee, there’s a vote,” Adrian confirmed. “Marcus was already captain when I joined, so I’ve never really…did you know Terence’s read that  _ entire wall? _ ”

“What makes you think he’s gonna beat Graham?”

Adrian grinned broader instead of answering. They arrived down at the locker rooms just as half the team burst out; Draco ran for Vincent and Gregory in the crowd, Cassius, Peregrine, and Lucian hot on his heels, looking nervously over their shoulders. The door stayed open, spilling out Marcus’s angry ranting. Marcus Flint in a rage was scarier than Adrian’s newfound reputation; the Slytherins went from walking towards the castle to  _ bolting _ , a few elbows clipping Harry and Adrian on the way past. She stood tall and fidgety, like a tree in a spring windstorm, casting a mean, satisfied smile at the locker room.

“ _ Pucey put you up to this! _ ” Marcus roared.

“Nope,” Terence said calmly. Harry could see their silhouettes through the open door, including Graham trying to edge towards the door around Terence. “My idea.”

“You’ve never volunteered for anything in your  _ life _ ,” Marcus raged on. “You only tried out for the team because your  _ whole year _ did, you wanted to  _ blend in _ you little  _ weasel _ -”

“That’s  _ captain _ weasel,” Terence cut in. He tossed a key up and down in one hand. “You want your broom now, Flint, or wait with everyone else for the end of the year?”

Adrian snickered. Marcus reared around, stormed out of the locker room, shoulders rising in fury. Harry skipped backwards, but Adrian just stuck her hands in her pockets and smiled broader.

“ _ YOU! _ ”

“Bad day, Marcus?” Adrian asked. 

“This is your fault,” Marcus growled.

“Funny, I thought games come down to the  _ teams- _ ”

“You  _ did something _ ,” Marcus accused, looming over Adrian, face a few inches from hers. He was taller than her, three times as broad, and spitting mad. Harry  _ really _ wished Adrian would get her hands out of her pockets, pull out her wand,  _ anything _ . He almost took a step forwards, hand on his own wand up his sleeve, but he couldn’t seem to move. Terence was distracted, Graham standing close to talk about something. “You  _ helped them _ . Those were  _ your moves _ the lions used-”

“Aw, Marcus,” Adrian said, rolling her eyes, tilting her head at the same time to exaggerate the expression, dropping her shoulders into a slouch. “Did you ever think maybe, just maybe, I stole moves from  _ them _ ? They’re  _ good! _ ”

“What are you hanging around for,  _ Pucey _ ?” Marcus growled, ignoring this retort. “Trying to get fried by the shed again?”

“Heard there was a new captain,” Adrian said, straightening back up and lacing her fingers together, palms outwards. She stretched and cracked her knuckles, the move pressing her hands against Marcus’s chest, making him step back as though scalded. Harry relaxed a fraction. “Figured I’d ask when try-outs are.”

“Second Saturday in September,” Terence said from the doorway, done talking with Graham, who caught sight of Marcus’s face over Terence’s shoulder and tried to hide behind him. “Open try-outs.” Terence pointed to Harry. “Help me make the poster?”

“Sure-” Harry started to say, but Marcus’s shout drowned him out.

“ _ She put you up to this! _ ”

Terence raised his eyebrows, then narrowed his eyes, taking in the bare arms’ length between Marcus and Adrian, the threatening posture. “Are you trying to intimidate a student out of participating in extra-curricular activities, Flint?” Terence asked slowly. “Because I’d have to report you for that.”

Adrian snickered again. Marcus swelled up, turning from Terence back to her, clenched fists rising. “ _ You- _ ”

“Step back and walk away, Flint,” Terence said, voice suddenly Gemma-level cold.

“Or you’ll what?” Marcus asked, eyes locked with Adrian’s. “Report me to Professor Snape?”

“No, I’ll have to report  _ him _ ,” Terence said, pointing once more to Harry. Marcus blinked. He looked down. Harry’s wand was pointed straight at his chest.

“Aw, kid,” Adrian said quietly, finally losing her grin. “He’s not  _ really _ gonna do anything to me.”

“Yeah,” Marcus sneered. “I like my arms as they are.” Adrian flinched.

“Can we all just go back to the dungeon?” Graham asked plaintively. “Lucian said he got some firewhiskey, you know, for after the match? I’ve never tried it before.”

“…yeah.” Marcus stepped away, and Graham darted out from behind Terence, leading the way to the castle. Harry kept his wand out until they were over the bridge.

“C’mon,” Terence said quietly, slipping the broom shed key into his pocket. “You guys wanna take a walk? I don’t really feel like firewhiskey.”

“…sure.” Harry slid his wand back up his sleeve. Adrian didn’t even bother nodding, but she walked between them, kicking at tufts of grass. After they’d circled the lake, she flung one arm over Terence’s shoulder.

“So, second weekend of September, huh?” Adrian asked, forcing a grin. “What’s the  _ first _ weekend?”

“I’m thinking a bunch of short-round Quaffle-only games on Saturday, open to everyone,” Terence said. “And a couple regular games on Sunday.” He peered around Adrian to nod at Harry. “You mind playing Seeker for that? You’ve got the fastest capture times in the school.” 

“Sounds fun,” Harry said.

“Ruffle his hair for me, would you?” Terence asked. Adrian obliged. “I’m gonna do a second one in the spring, so we can get the kids who pass Madam Hooch’s class to play too. And we need to put on the poster, we need to say that you don’t need a broom, that we can use the team ones for these games. I don’t wanna miss a great player just ‘cause they don’t have their own broom.”

“You’ve really thought about this,” Adrian said, sounding impressed, fake grin turning into a real one.

“It beat thinking about Keeping, to be honest,” Terence said. “I  _ was _ just going to let Graham have it, but…he’s a great Beater, don’t get me wrong, but he thinks Flint’s a  _ good _ captain.” Adrian snorted. “I know, right? And I could just see another two years of this rubbish, and I thought…well, I could do what Harry did, and quit. I’ve got  _ responsibilities _ , now.” He tapped his prefect badge. “Perfect excuse. Except…the damn thing’s rubbed off on me. I kept thinking, I can  _ fix _ this.”

This statement met with a long, thoughtful silence. They paused by the dock, staring up at the fireworks coming out of the Gryffindor tower.

“Sure know how to party, don’t they?” Adrian said.

“Be worth sneaking in there just for that,” Terence agreed.

“How  _ did _ you fix it?” Harry blurted out.

“Hm?”

“The vote,” Harry said. “Whole team’s scared of Marcus, and he  _ wanted _ Graham as new captain. But they voted for  _ you. _ ”

“Well, I-”

“No, no,” Adrian interrupted, laughing. “Let the small fry figure it out.”

“They didn’t  _ all _ vote for me,” Terence said. “Flint didn’t get to vote ‘cause he’s graduating, and Malfoy abstained.”

Terence wasn’t scarier than Marcus, people barely even remembered he was around half the time. It probably wasn’t because they thought he’d be a better captain, because he never said more than he had to in practice. He  _ had _ trained Harry as a Seeker, which looked good for a future captain, but Harry had turned around and quit, which looked bad.

Wait. Go back. People barely remembered he was around…

“You  _ blackmailed them _ ,” Harry concluded. Adrian clapped his shoulder proudly.

Terence smiled blissfully. “Do you know how long I’ve waited to use some of that dirt?”

~~~

“What an utter bastard,” Gemma said calmly Sunday morning, several minutes after the owl post had been through. Harry looked up; she had the Sunday edition of the Daily Prophet unrolled in her hands. Adrian was one of the few students that bothered getting it every day (Terence once remarked that the Prophet wasn’t worth reading because it was “half bullshit and half old news”) but several of the older students liked to get the Sunday Prophet, which included a crossword puzzle.

“Mm?” Yurika looked up from the daisy pattern she was drawing on her pancakes with melted butter.

“They always run this article in August,” Gemma explained, folding down the top of the paper to show the title. Harry tilted his head to read it. “Someone must’ve bribed them to move it up this year.”

**_HELP THE AURORS AND DMLE!_ ** _ HAVE YOU SEEN THESE WIZARDS? _

Harry’s stomach knotted. It was the same heading he’d seen that summer, pointing to a spread of pages halfway through the Daily Prophet, featuring small black-and-white photos of old Death Eaters who’d fled like Mrs. Pucey, other people from Voldemort’s side of the war, and more recent regular wizarding criminals that the Aurors and Department of Magical Law Enforcement were looking for. The one over the summer had simply listed everyone in alphabetical order by last name, putting Mrs. Pucey next to a Vivian Prescott, wanted for selling biting teacups to elderly Muggles.

“Three guesses on who,” Gemma added coolly. “First two don’t count.”

“May I see?” Harry asked.

“Patience.” Gemma finished the first page, flipped through a few more, and handed the paper to Harry. Mrs. Pucey’s grainy, black-and-white photo stared haughtily up at him from front page, directly under the headline, before the article even started. Harry had found Adrian and her mother’s resemblance noticeable but unremarkable last Christmas, with Adrian fifteen and short-haired while her mother was in her late thirties, worn from life on the run. The resemblance to Adrian and her father, with his teenaged face smiling from a photo of the Toad Choir winning ribbons in the school’s trophy room, had been stronger.

But with a photo taken in Mrs. Pucey’s early twenties? And Adrian now sixteen? There was no mistaking their relationship, even with the article delicately neglecting to mention Adrian’s existence. Especially having seen Adrian with long hair that August.

_ Jianbao Pucey, née Lin, is wanted on three counts of murder and two counts of kidnapping, and is a person of interest in several other crimes from the war with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She was last seen in Athens in 1983, when she evaded Greek Aurors and destroyed an unoccupied Muggle motor vehicle. Civilians are cautioned to avoid contact with Pucey and contact the Ministry AT ONCE if they detect or suspect her presence. Her husband Brian Pucey is serving a fifty-year sentence in Azkaban for spying. _

Rustling pages and harsh whispers filled the air over the breakfast table. Harry looked up from the paper. Adrian was nowhere to be seen.

~~~

The third-year Gryffindor and Slytherin Care of Magical Creatures class that week was greeted by the sight of two coconut-sized snails in a large glass tank on the outdoor table, and a smaller tank containing a bristly pink mushroom-looking thing.  Parvati Patil let out a delighted gasp over the snails; one had a shell of deep cobalt blue, and the other soft yellow. Millicent Bulstrode spotted the mushroom-thing and wrinkled her nose.

“Let’s see if yeh’ve kept up on the book!” Hagrid declared cheerfully. “Who can tell me what these are?”

“Streelers!” Patil squealed.

“Garden pests,” Draco sneered.

“Right yeh both are!” Hagrid said. “But that’s not all. They’re- Hermione?”

“The streeler’s venom kills all vegetation it touches, and also kills horklumps,” she pointed at the mushroom-thing, “which aren’t proper plants or fungi at all.”

“Five points fer Gryffindor,” Hagrid beamed. “Just dealt with a horklump infestation with Professor Sprout, kept this one to show all of yeh. See the tentacles?” The horklump lay on its side in the tank, feebly wriggling. “Uses those ter catch worms. Anyone know how else to get rid o’ horklumps?”

“Gnomes eat them,” Millicent said. “Just like jarveys eat gnomes.”

Hagrid nodded “Five points fer Slytherin.” He spent the rest of the class going over caring for the streelers, which were very slowly changing color in their tank. Near the end of class, the back of Harry’s neck prickled. He looked away from the now turquoise-shelled streeler in Hagrid’s gloved hand toward the treeline; a large black dog stared at him.

“Now, yeh want ter be careful with this part, ‘cause if you spill the venom it won’t go well fer the grass.”

Harry shook his head and looked again. Just a shrubbery clinging close to a tree. He lingered behind for a moment after class, just in case, but the shrubbery remained stubbornly green and leafy, not canine at all. Rolling his eyes at himself, Harry set off for the castle, jogging a little to catch up with everyone else.

Hermione paused at the top of the steps, put a hand up to shield her eyes from the rays of sun breaking through the overcast, peering back over the grounds as though she’d just noticed his absence. Harry waved- maybe they’d actually get to study together today –and Hermione waved back.

Then she swayed.

Fell.

“ _ Hermione! _ ”

“ _ HERMIONE! _ ”

Ron Weasley dove across the steps, caught Hermione before her head could hit the stones. “Hermione! Hermione!” Harry bolted across the grass, up the steps. Neville Longbottom knelt by Ron, and Daphne ran up into the castle, yelling about getting Madam Pomfrey.

“Oh, don’t,” Hermione murmured, eyes fluttering open. Ron’s arm tightened around her shoulders. He’d gone pale under this freckles the same way Ginny did. “I’m fine.”

“You  _ f-fainted _ ,” Longbottom said, as Ron helped Hermione sit up.

“Just a little dizzy.”

“You almost broke your  _ skull _ ,” Harry said. He bunched up the fabric of his robes in his hands. “When was the last time you slept?”

“Last night.”

“For how  _ long? _ ”

“Leave her alone!” Ron snapped. “She’s got a lot of classes!”

“I really am fine,” Hermione insisted. She pushed herself to her feet, and Ron rose with her. “See?”

“Your eyes’ve got darker bags than a box of black tea,” Harry said flatly.

“Lay off, will you?” Ron said.

“B-both of you knock it off,” Longbottom said, at the same time Hermione repeated “I’m  _ fine _ .” She shook off Ron’s arm and walked into the entrance hall. The boys trailed behind her all the way up the first couple flights of stairs, but when she turned towards Gryffindor Tower and swayed, Ron took her arm again.

“C’mon,” Ron said. “Pomfrey’s gonna panic if you don’t show up after that Slytherin girl tattled on you.”

“Fine, I’ll go,” Hermione sighed. She deigned to lean against Ron’s side, but waved Longbottom and Harry away. “I certainly don’t need  _ three people _ to get me there.”

Harry and Longbottom were left standing awkwardly in the junction between the routes to Gryffindor Tower and the hospital wing.

“It wasn’t tattling,” Harry muttered down towards his feet.

“I know,” Longbottom said.

“And her name’s  _ Daphne _ .”

Longbottom reached out hesitantly, and patted his shoulder. “I know.”

~~~

The weeks leading up to final exams flew by. Harry felt like half his time was in the library, cramming with the study group, and the other half was in class, trying to catch clues about which spells would be on their exams. Professor Snape was still ignoring him, so Harry sped through prep and clean-up during Double Potions and used the sit-and-brew time to go over his reading. History with Professor Binns turned into a sort of secondary studio time, where Harry could get some of his pencil and ink studies done. Anything requiring a larger-than-sketchbook canvas or messier supplies was done in Art class proper, or the Open Studio time on Fridays.

Harry and Hermione barely saw each other; Ron brought back the Gryffindor study group, and they kept whisking her up to their tower with pockets crammed full of things from dinner, so she could snack while she studied, and convince her to go to bed more easily.

“Professor McGonagall wanted me to drop at least two classes,” Hermione told Harry quietly, during one of their Monday sessions with Daphne and Theodore. “But I talked her into letting me finish out the year like this. We’re so close to exams, I can’t  _ bear _ to quit now.” Personally, Harry thought McGonagall had the right idea, but since Hermione was looking considerably better since the Gryffindors had started keeping an eye on her, he didn’t say anything.

The fifth and seventh-years all looked worse than Hermione had before she fainted; OWLs and NEWTs were held over two weeks, starting a week before the other students had to begin exams. So they had less time to study, for higher stakes. Heather Thatcham actually had a full-on screaming, sobbing meltdown when a second-year spilled ink on her notes, and was escorted by Olivia up to get a Calming Draught from Madam Pomfrey. After that, Gertrude Meads started brewing a small batch every evening after dinner and offering it to anyone who looked stressed. Gemma Farley offered to kiss her, she was so grateful; the prefects had been overwhelmed by their own studying, regular patrols, and need to confiscate all the bogus study aids students were selling each other.

Theodore actually got away with selling packets of colored sugar (Instant Brain Boost, just add to hot tea!) because he charged “One knut, and let me practice a Cheering Charm on you,” which, Olivia reluctantly agreed, actually  _ did _ help keep the dungeon a pleasanter place.

Worried about Hermione and his own homework, and with everyone else just as busy, it wasn’t until two weeks after the Daily Prophet article ran that Harry realized he’d only seen Adrian at meals, never in the dungeon. He kept an eye out for a few days, growing increasingly worried, occasionally spotting Terence doing the same thing. He’d assumed she was still studying in the library, but her dark corner turned out to be occupied by a Hufflepuff/Gryffindor couple that tried to hex him for interrupting their ‘study session’, and she wasn’t in the better-lit parts of the library either. He ran into Hirohiso Kubo coming out of Professor Laurens’ office mid-week and asked if Adrian was still getting up with the rowing team.

“Yeah, she’s still running around the lake while we’re out there,” Hirohiso said “I think she’s been going straight to breakfast after?” Food didn’t appear until breakfast officially started, but the Great Hall was never locked. Harry showed up early and spotted Adrian scarf down breakfast the moment the house elves sent the food up, then cram fruit and bagels into her bookbag, scampering before the morning crowd arrived, much like Harry had his first few months at school. People were still giving her loads of room on the bench during lunch and dinner.

Finally, Harry spent an evening scouring the castle, asking the portraits and ghosts he encountered if they’d seen her. Sir Cadogan, back up near the Divination Tower since the Fat Lady’s restoration to Gryffindor Tower several weeks back, brandished his sword when Harry asked.

“What dost thee want with the brave lad?” Sir Cadogan roared. “Cutting looks? Foul words! Thou shalt have no help from me!”

“I’m Adrian’s  _ friend _ ,” Harry said. “And I’m pretty sure she’s a girl.”

“Lad, lass, the heart of a lion!” Sir Cadogan said, but he sheathed the sword. “A fine deed it ‘twas, to defend the noble hippogriff from persecution!”

“ _ Do _ you know where Adrian is?” Harry repeated. He bit his tongue on the  _ lion _ comment. One of the portraits near the Transfiguration wing said Sir Cadogan might’ve been a Gryffindor in his lifetime.  _ He means it as a compliment _ .

“The brave champion did ask my counsel,” Sir Cadogan said. His fat pony munched on the painted grass while he talked. “Desiring a quiet place to study. I know nothing of quiet, alas, but the Grey Lady once spoke of unused classrooms in the Charms wing. I directed the champion there, that he might study undisturbed by foul looks.”

“Thank you, Sir Cadogan,” Harry said, and pelted off down the corridor.  _ Charms wing, Charms wing _ …he slowed down when he reached it, walking softly, listening for the sound of pages turning or quills scratching.

“Look, mate, this isn’t like you.”

Apparently Terence had beaten Harry there, because now the prefect’s voice flowed gently out of a half-closed door.

“What isn’t, studying?” And there was Adrian’s voice, snappish, strained.

“Not by yourself, no,” Terence said. Harry very slowly lowered his foot, and leaned against the wall to eavesdrop. “You haven’t even made  _ one wager _ on how we’ll do on our OWLs, or if Graham’ll finally snap during Transfiguration, or how badly we’ll be scalded by the Weasley twins in our Potions practical. Don’t think I didn’t hear you asking Flitwick for an extension on our essay.”

“It’s not like he’ll even have time to read them before exams are over,” Adrian muttered. Harry slid a little further along the wall, closer to the door. “He just wanted us to finish so we can practice our wandwork.”

“That’s not the point,” Terence said. “You  _ hate _ essay extensions. You always say you’d rather turn in something terrible and take the hit than spend more time on the damn things.”

“Well I couldn’t exactly turn in blank parchment, could I?”

“You hadn’t written  _ anything? _ ” Terence gasped.

“Don’t sound so bloody surprised,” Adrian said. Harry could’ve sworn he heard her shoulder hunching up around her ears, even if he couldn’t see it. “You know I can’t concentrate without some noise.”

“Then why are you  _ here _ ?” Terence asked, shock replaced with something close to anger. “Merlin’s  _ balls _ Adrian, there’s at least the sound of books and quills in the damn library!”

There was a long, tense silence. When Adrian finally answered Terence, her voice was so low Harry wasn’t even sure he heard her right.

“I can feel everyone looking at me.”

“And when has  _ that _ ever been a problem?” Terence shot back.

“This is different.”

“How is it bloody different? You used to rub every single Quidditch win of ours in the Weasley’s faces, even when our match wasn’t against Gryffindor. You sloshed back into the Great Hall still covered in pondweed when Flint chucked you in the lake, daring anyone to say anything. Hell, you didn’t crawl off into a corner to die like this when everyone thought we’d petrified that Ravenclaw last year!”

“ _ Because this time it’s our own damn house that’s scared of me! _ ” Adrian shouted, accompanied by the scrape of her chair being shoved back, and the slam of her palms hitting the desk. “You’re supposed to be the  _ observant one _ you prat, how’d you fucking miss it? Half of Slytherin runs away from me like I’m going to bloody eat them, and the other half is giving me the cold shoulder for not showing fucking house unity with the damn Malfoys! The only people getting close in the halls are the ones throwing insults!”

“Adrian…”

“Did you know that Titus fucking Mitcham knew all about the shitstorm when I was nine?” Adrian went on, unable to stop herself now that she’d started. “His father works in the courts. His father  _ voted  _ on Cousin Stephen’s case. And thanks to Mitcham cornering me by the fucking fireplace and throwing a fit when I wouldn’t teach him the stupid hex, everyone in our bloody house knows about my mother and me!”

“I did hear a bit of that, yeah…” Terence said cautiously. “Something about your mum being a Death Eater and Floo’ing you at Christmas? And teaching you loads of spells before you started at Hogwarts? I thought Grant was exaggerating. Not about the Death Eater part, paper mentioned that.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Rest of it.”

“Nope” Adrian said, her voice raw but finally back to a normal volume. “No exaggeration. I’d been hoping not to let everyone know what a fucking monster I am.”

“ _ Knowing _ hexes doesn’t make you a-”

“I ripped off his skin, Terence, his fucking skin!” Adrian’s voice broke. “I didn’t have to! I could’ve tried Expelliarmus again! You didn’t hear him screaming, Terence,  _ I did that! _ ”

“So, what, now we all know, you’re just going to run away?” Terence said. “Get bad grades ‘cause you can’t study properly like this? Let them win?”

Harry hadn’t even noticed himself slip into the room until Adrian looked past Terence at him and sighed. She fell back down into her chair and covered her face with her hands. “It’s not about winning,” she said, cracked voice muffled. “It’s about keeping my head down and getting through OWLs. Everyone’ll find something more interesting to talk about over the summer.”

“I thought,” Harry said quietly, making Terence jump. “That you were tired of keeping your head down.”

Adrian drew her hands down her face and dropped them in her lap. She squeezed her eyes shut. “Yeah, well, I’m tired of this, too.”

Another tense silence filled the room. Harry’s fingernails dug into his palms. “Did you really mean that, about being a monster?” he asked.

Adrian didn’t answer.

“Come on,” Harry said. “Grab your stuff. I need to ask Professor Lupin something.”

Adrian raised her eyebrows, motion cracking her eyes open again. “You don’t need me for that,” she said, sarcasm reassuring after the explosion, even with the disturbing wetness to her eyes. “You’re not a firstie, even if you’re smaller than most of ‘em.”

“I know,” Harry said. “Come anyway.” Terence, perhaps noting the odd tone to Harry’s voice, forced the issue by shoving all of Adrian’s things back into her bag and hoisting it over his own shoulder. Given the choice between fighting Terence for it back, or following him and Harry down the hall, she chose the latter, wiping her eyes with the hem of her sleeve.


	16. The Ghosts Come to Play

Professor Lupin was, thankfully, in his office, and stepped back from the door to let them all in. “Questions about class?” he asked, tilting his head, politely not mentioning Adrian’s blotchy face.

“Sorry, no,” Harry said, fidgeting nervously now that they were here. “It’s about my parents, actually. And the war. Sorry.”

Adrian shot him a sharp look, and then Terence grabbed her shoulder and dragged her down onto one of the spindly wooden chairs near Lupin’s desk. Lupin cast a thoughtful eye at the two fifth-years, and then turned his attention fully to Harry. “I wondered when curiosity would win out.”

“Sorry,” Harry said again, and then took a deep breath. “A while back, I heard that my mum tore Euphasia Pershore’s leg off.” Terence let out a low whistle. Adrian narrowed her eyes. “I asked Hagrid about it,” Harry went on. “But he wasn’t there, so he only speculated that, you know, she’d been protecting someone. My mum, I mean, not Pershore.”

“And you’re hoping I know more,” Lupin concluded.

“I _know_ you know more,” Harry said, though he really didn’t have any proof to back up this conviction. “I’m _hoping_ you’ll tell me about it.”

Lupin leaned against this desk, crossing his arms. He took in all three students, Adrian staring at Harry, Terence keeping hold of Adrian’s shoulder, and Harry determinedly keeping his eyes on Lupin. He sighed, and ran a hand through his brown, peppered hair.

“It was an armory,” Lupin said, and Harry grinned in triumph. “Half the weapons were enchanted; the witch who owned it wanted to stay neutral, and wasn’t letting anyone in. The place was already warded against Apparition, though not Disapparition. That’s fairly common in older wizarding structures; no one wants to be trapped inside if there’s a fire.” His voice took on the cadence he used in class, and Harry found himself itching to take notes. “It was also warded to only let the owner through the door. Our side was guarding her, to make sure Voldemort’s side couldn’t just use the Imperious Curse.” The older students flinched at Voldemort’s name.

“Unfortunately, they murdered her instead. A poisoned gift. Her heir was a nephew, only a few years old, and the magic in the armory recognized his parents as the new…people in charge, if you will. Everything except the anti-Apparition wards went down, and there was a fight to gain control.” Lupin paused, tapping his fingers against one arm. “The fight was _inside_ the armory; a few people from both sides got in before someone managed to seal the entrance, and I was busy setting up wards to _keep_ it sealed until the nephew came of age. Lily and James drew the Death Eaters’ fire so I could work.”

All three Slytherins were on the edge of their seats, caught up in the story.

“They’d gotten it down to just Pershore when she and James disarmed each other. Her Expelliarmus was rather more _explosive_ than his. Knocked him into a wall. Suit of armor fell over on him, and Pershore grabbed the nearest weapon. A mace.” He clasped his hands together and raised them above his head; the students gasped. “We all realized, if we blasted her, the mace would fall on James anyway. Your mother though,” Lupin said, nodding to Harry, and crossing his arms again. “Was brilliant. Sharp as a tack, quick on her feet. Lily Apparated over-”

“I thought you said there were anti-Apparition wards?” Terence interrupted. Lupin smiled widely, just as though Terence had pointed out a problem in class. “Yes. Wards against Apparating _into_ the armory, but not _within_ it.”

“You can do that?” Adrian asked.

“It’s more common than what Hogwarts has, actually,” Lupin said. “It’s a one-way barrier. Think of a room with a barred door, with a person inside. The bar keeps people from getting in, but someone inside the room is free to walk from one side to the other, or to lift the bar and exit. Hogwarts has a blanket anti-Apparition and Disapparition charm. It’s simpler to set up, but requires more magic to maintain.”

This was fascinating, and Harry filed it away to tell Hermione about (surely she would have brought up both types of spells before now, if _Hogwarts, A History_ had mentioned more than one), but Lupin was getting distracted from the messy part of the story.

“What happened then, Professor?” Harry asked. “When my mum popped over?”

Lupin grinned. “Lily grabbed Pershore and Disapparated clean out of the armory,” he said. “Took the mace with them. But Apparition is tricky, let alone Side-Along Apparition, and a leg stayed behind. Thankfully we could tell from the shoe it wasn’t Lily’s. We all stared for a moment, one of those moments that feel like an eternity but could only really be a second, and then it fell over on top of James. Screamed like a banshee, and when he stopped for air Sirius said-”

Lupin abruptly snapped his mouth shut, face shuttering.

“...it’s all right, sir,” Adrian said quietly. “We already knew he was friends with halfpint’s dad. Sort of figured he’d be along.”

“I’d like to know what he said,” Terence added, not quietly at all. Adrian elbowed him, but her expression was just as curious. Lupin looked to Harry, who nodded rapidly. Lupin sighed, and let a tired smile play across his face before speaking again.

“Sirius said, ‘I thought this was an armory, not a leggory’.”

There was a dead silence for a few seconds, and then the three teenagers groaned.

“That’s terrible,” Terence said.

“That’s _awful_ ,” Adrian said.

“James nearly died laughing,” Lupin said solemnly, lips twitching. “I’d tell you it was adrenaline and hysteria from nearly _actually_ dying, but sadly, James always considered puns the height of humor.”

~~~

“C’mon,” Terence said, elbowing Adrian just outside the hidden stone door to the Slytherin dungeon. “We’ll just sit by Gemma, there’s no _way_ she’s scared of you.”

“That’s like saying a _glacier_ isn’t scared of you.”

“Exactly!”

The sight of Adrian approaching was enough to send the other seventh-years at the table fleeing, though. Adrian’s shoulders hunched up around her ears. She turned for the archway again. Terence jostled the bookbag he was still holding, and Adrian sighed before slumping ungracefully down opposite Gemma. Terence sat next to her and dumped the bag’s contents on the table.

“Go over Charms with me,” he said. “Flitwick said they’ll review stuff from all five years, and I’m rusty.”

“You’re not rusty you’re a damn liar,” Adrian muttered, but she pulled out her Charms notes anyway. Harry sat down next to Gemma in a fairly comfortable chair vacated by one of the seventh-years, and filched a spare bit of parchment from Adrian’s stuff to doodle on.

“If any of you fail exams because of this horseshit,” Gemma said quietly. “I am going to be very, very annoyed.”

Adrian hastily put the Charms notes away and pulled out her Potions textbook instead. “Actually, Terence, could we go over Substitution Theory?”

Things didn’t go back to normal quickly, or easily. Adrian’s obvious discomfort made the other students more nervous, which in turn made her more uncomfortable. Pansy wasn’t scared at all, but her court of younger students _was_ , so she made a point of loudly promising to protect them. Marcus Flint spread a rumor that Terence had threatened to sick Adrian on the other Quidditch players in order to win the captaincy, which offended Terence deeply.

“I got the captaincy all on my own!” he shouted, overhearing Gideon telling Mathilda about it. “With hard work and blackmail!”

“ ‘s true, he did,” Lucian said, and then one of the six-year prefects yelled at everyone to shut up.

The first week of exams was a relief. The fifth and seventh years were too exhausted at the end of the day to do much beyond study more or sleep, and the other students were rushing through last-minute work on their essays due before their own exams began. When the weekend finally hit, everyone spilled out of doors to study in the sun. It was more crowded around the courtyard and bit of lawn just outside the entrance hall than ever before; though the most popular rumor said Sirius Black must’ve skipped off to Australia or Brazil, the dementors still lurked just outside the gates. No one wanted to get too close to the school’s borders.

“Oh, I’ve missed this,” Hermione said, lying down on her cloak, spread out on the grass just past the courtyard’s stones. She laid a whetting stone on her notes to secure them against the light breeze, and sighed. “I think I really will have to drop some classes next year.”

“Muggle Studies?” Harry suggested. “I never understood why you took that one…”

“It’s sort of like taking Wizarding Studies, but backwards,” Hermione said. “You learn a lot about how wizards think, seeing how they talk about Muggle things.” Her voice got softer, wistful. “I wish there _was_ a Wizarding Studies class. You know, for first years.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “That’d’ve saved some trouble.” He shuffled the Astronomy flashcards that he was supposed to be quizzing Hermione with. “What about Ancient Runes?”

“Goodness no, it’s so helpful for reading older texts. And don’t even _say_ Arithmancy, it’s wonderful. No, I think I’ll see about dropping-”

“Divination.”

“Mm-hm. Oh, hello Ginny.”

“Hi Hermione.” Ginny ambled past them, hat stuffed under her arm and hair blazing in the June sun. “Hi Harry.”

“Hi Ginny.”

Hermione plucked the Astronomy flashcards from his hand. Harry kept half an eye on Ginny while Hermione quizzed him; she was heading straight for the patch of empty stone steps around Adrian. He could have sworn Terence had been studying with her, but he was gone.

“Jupiter’s Galilean’s moons are…?”

“Callisto, Europa, um . . . Ganymede, aaaaand . . . Io.”

Ginny sat down next to Adrian, hands flashing through the air as she talked. A moment later Terence came jogging back over, clutching a worn sheet of parchment, the Weasley twins glaring daggers at his back. They stopped short at the sight of their sister chatting amiably with a demonstrably dangerous older Slytherin.

“What d’you think that’s all about?” Harry asked.

“If it’s not on the exams, I don’t care,” Hermione said firmly. Fred gestured for Ginny to come with him and George; she made a rude gesture back, and Adrian fell over laughing. Hermione glanced over in time to see George clutch his heart and fake a shocked faint, falling into Terence and knocking both of them into Fred. Hermione rolled her eyes. “And you did the moons in alphabetical order, do them again by size.”

“Callisto’s the smallest, right?”

“Yes, indeed it is,” Ernie Macmillan said, sitting down next to them. “Then Ganymede, Europa, and finally Io as the largest.”

“Hi, Macmillan,” Harry said. Hermione hastily sat up to make room on the cloak, which Macmillan ignored. “Did you, er, need something?”

“No, but thank you for inquiring, I’m actually here, to, well, it’s a bit delicate…” he trailed off, a slightly nervous air working past the usual pomposity.

“Anything you’ve got to ask me you can ask in front of Hermione,” Harry said.

“Not ask-”

“Say, then.”

“All right.” Macmillan took a deep breath. “Do you, ah, read the Daily Prophet?”

“…no,” Harry said, though he had a feeling he knew _exactly_ where Macmillan was going. “My friend Adrian does though, shares the crossword sometimes. Read something interesting lately?”

“Adrian _Pucey_ , right?” Macmillan asked, and Harry nodded. “That’s just the thing. The Prophet keeps people up to date on dangerous wizards, like Sirius Black, and the article a couple weeks back mentioned a Death Eater named Pucey-”

“Bit late, aren’t you?”

“It’s a very serious accusation!” Macmillan said, puffing up a little. “I had to make sure they really were related, after all the rumors after the duel it would’ve been a shabby thing to add more. But Potter, this is a very dangerous association you’ve formed-”

“I meant _late_ because I’ve known about Adrian’s mum since first year,” Harry snapped. Macmillan pressed his lips shut, eyes wide, looking for all the world like Longbottom’s toad.

“Oh. Um. I wanted to make sure-”

“Yes, well, now you have,” Hermione interrupted. “Which was very considerate of you, but we need to study now.”

Macmillan fled.

Terence’s insistence on studying near everyone else paid off once regular exams began; one of Pansy’s first-years, Nerissa Brody, burst into tears Monday evening, sobbing that she was going to fail _everything_ . “A-and Mum and Dad’ll bring back that awful tutor, I hate him, he makes me feel so _stupid-_ ”

“Which tutor?” Adrian called over. Tiny Nerissa gulped and fell silent, tears still falling down her face while Tracey stroked her hair. “Does he wear a bow-tie with horses on it?” Nerissa shook her head. “Striped ascot?” A nod. “Mr. Lutterworth?” Another nod, firmer now. “Ugh, he’s the worst. Me an’ Marcus Flint and some other kids took lessons from him for a few weeks before my cousin picked me up early and heard how he was talking to us. Never sent me back and told all the other parents that Lutterworth couldn’t be trusted to teach a dog how to bark.”

“R-really?” Nerissa wiped at her eyes and sniffed. “My mum says he’s the best…”

“He got nothing but Outstandings on all his NEWTs and then went off to Boston for some fancy accreditation ,” Adrian said. “But he can’t keep a tutoring job for more than a few months ‘cause he’s absolute shit with kids. Whatever he said to you, he was wrong.”

Nerissa giggled at the cussword. “Then why does he keep getting hired?” she asked. Pansy glared over Tracey’s shoulder at Adrian.

“None of the parents wanna admit they made a mistake, so they don’t tell anyone why they fired ‘im,” Adrian explained. “Cousin Stephen does, but people don’t always listen to him. Trust me, firstie, _you’re_ not the stupid one.”

“…huh,” Tracey said, as Nerissa beamed. “That’s…good to know.” Nerissa went back to studying with the other first years, murmuring “Mr. Lutterworth is _wrong_ ,” under her breath occasionally, and Pansy gave Adrian a very grudging nod of thanks.

“Merlin’s beard Adrian, did you have to teach the firsties to swear?” Yurika asked a few minutes later, dropping Emeric Switch’s _Intermediate Transfiguration_ down on the table Terence’s notes were spread across.

“I did what?”

Yurika indicated Pansy’s court with a graceful swoop of one hand, just as Nerissa and another first-year quietly murmured “Mr. Lutterworth is _absolute shit_.”

“…oops.”

“Yeah, oops,” Yurika said. She ruffled Adrian’s hair, which at nearly three inches long was the shaggiest it had ever been, Rapunzel-jinx aside. “I’m burnt out on Transfiguration, let me fix this mess.”

Tuesday night, Harry glanced up from his Charms quizzing session with Daphne and saw several of the Care of Magical Creatures OWLs students clustered around Adrian, raptly listening to her description of thestrals. She kept running one hand over her freshly buzzed hair.

“No, they’re skeletally _thin_ , you can’t actually see the bones or muscles.” She curled her lip back and tapped one of her canine teeth. “An’ the book got the teeth right, pure carnivore.”

“What d’you mean, the book got it right?” Bhupen asked. “They’re not in Fantastic Beasts at _all_ , I _looked_.”

“They’re in the biting book,” Trupti said. “Don’t you ever read that thing?”

“If Professor Kettleburn wouldn’t trust it, I won’t either.”

“Ugh, you’re such a prat.”

~~~

Hagrid’s final exam was more for the baby augureys than the students. “They’re ready to fledge!” he told the class, beaming, with the nest cradled in his hands. “But they don’t think they need to with all of yeh feedin’ ‘em, so we’re givin’ them a nudge.”

He divided the class up into teams, some students acting as the ‘branch’ for the augureys to sit on, others coaxing them into the air with tasty insects or convincing bird-calls, and some to scoop them back off the grass and onto the ‘branch’ again.

Harry found himself on a team with Pansy Parkinson, Dean Thomas, and Parvati Patil.

“I am _not_ holding those,” Pansy said, sneering at the mugful of grubs Hagrid had given Thomas.

“You weren’t such a snot when we were kids,” Patil said, handing the augurey to Harry. It looked a lot more birdish now that it’s dark green wing-feathers had come in along with the down. Patil plucked a grub from the mug and wiggled it under the fledgling’s beak, then stepped back a couple feet. “Come on, little guy, fly for me.”

“Fly my pretties, fly,” Thomas added, grinning.

“You’re holding it wrong,” Pansy told Harry. “They don’t need to be cradled anymore, get your fingers under the talons so it can launch.”

“I’m _trying_ ,” Harry said, as the augurey cheeped pitifully at the grub. “It’s wiggly!”

“Be the branch, Harry.” Pansy wrinkled her nose as the augurey deposited its previous meal on Harry’s thumb. “Ugh, verisimilitude.”

Everyone got their baby augurey to make at least one attempt at flying by the end of the exam, and Hagrid declared that they’d all passed. He wiped away a tear as they carefully placed the fledglings back in the nest.

“They’ll be all grown up by August,” Hagrid said. “Won’t need none o’ us to help them then.”

“Thank Merlin,” Pansy muttered. Their augurey had decided her shiny black hair was actually proper adult augurey feathers, and kept trying to land on her shoulder instead of going after the grub. “This had _better_ come out of my robes. I never want to see another horrid little ball of feathers ever again.”

“But Pansy, I thought you _wanted_ to be a mama bird,” Patil giggled.

“I was _five_ and I wanted to be a _veela_ and _shut up Parvati_.”

“Make me,” Patil said, and ran back to the castle with Pansy shrieking after her. Lavender Brown rolled her eyes and plucked a bit of green down from her sleeve.

Late Thursday morning, Harry stumbled down from his second-to-last exam (history with Professor Binns) and walked straight into Hermione just in front of the door to the Great Hall.

“Harry!” she grabbed one shoulder to steady him. “Goodness, and you act like _I’ve_ been out of it.”

“ _Hermione_ ,” Harry whined. “How does he make a two-hour test on witch-burnings so _dull_?”

“It’s only dull if you don’t think about it properly,” she said, but she let go to pat his shoulder sympathetically as they stepped aside so the crowd could get through to lunch. “We had that one yesterday. What’ve you got left?”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Harry said. “Right after lunch, and Professor Lupin said to meet him out by the lake.”

“We just had that!” Hermione said, beaming. “He’s made an obstacle course out of everything, I’m sure you’ll do _wonderfully_. I had some trouble with the boggart at the end but since you had that extra class-”

“An obstacle course?” Harry grinned.

“Oh, drat it, I probably wasn’t supposed to tell you that…”

“Well it’s not like I’m going to study extra over lunch,” Harry assured her, just as his stomach rumbled. “What’ve you got left?”

“Divination,” Hermione said. “And then I’ve got to see Professor McGonagall after dinner.”

“About your schedule?”

“Mm-hm.”

~~~

“We’re _done_ ,” Millicent said, sitting down to dinner.

“Done _for_ ,” Tracey said, leaning heavily against her side. “I didn’t even _get_ to the boggart. Stupid grindylows.”

“Wasn’t too bad,” Millicent said, lifting her arm so Tracey could lean more comfortably. “You should see our garden sometime.”

“Can ‘sometime’ be this summer?” Tracey asked hopefully. “You always make de-gnoming sound fun, with all the throwing and punting…”

“De-gnoming by hand is vulgar,” Pansy said, nose in the hair.

“I’ll ask Mum if you two can visit at the same time,” Millicent said. Pansy immediately dropped the haughty look and reached across the table to grab Millicent and Tracey’s hands, squealing in delight. Down the table Theodore was trying to convince Daphne that Leofflaed wouldn’t need the tiny harness and leash she’d gotten in Hogsmeade, no, really, she was perfectly well trained. Daphne caught Harry’s eye and gave a tiny shrug. Harry grinned back; it was nice to be finished with exams, and they’d have a whole week without classes before getting back on the Express.

“I _still_ can’t figure out what this thing _does_ ,” Terence muttered next to him. “Tried every revealing spell in the Charms text…”

“You tried writing on it?” Adrian asked. “Like the little Weasley did with her book?” Harry twisted around on the bench in alarm; Terence and Adrian were hunched over the table, a blank piece of old parchment set down between their dinner plates.

“Not yet,” Terence said.

“Here,” Adrian said, and pulled a short quill out of her pocket. “Who’s got ink?”

“I do,” Harry said. He’d brought his bookbag to the Defense final. “But is that a good idea?”

“Probably not,” Terence said. He thunked one elbow down on the table and shoved his fingers into his hair. “Confiscated it from the Weasley twins. Honestly surprised it hasn’t spit gobstone goop or something at me already.”

Adrian stuck her hand out, making a _gimme_ gesture, and Harry nervously dropped a bottle of ink onto her palm. She quickly wrote _SO WHAT ARE YOU, ANYWAY?_ across the parchment. After a few seconds, the ink ran together into a splotch in the middle of the parchment, and then re-spread as the words _THE GREATEST AID TO MISCHIEF-MAKERS EVER KNOWN._

“Great,” Terence said. “Isn’t that what the evil diary did?”

“Weasley said the ink vanished all the way before answering,” Harry said. Adrian handed him back the inkbottle.

“I better show this to Professor Lupin,” Terence muttered. He rolled it back up and stowed it in one pocket. “Those assholes _better’ve_ not gotten themselves possessed or cursed or something.”

Harry and Adrian sprawled across the warm stone steps after dinner, basking in the early June sun and lack of responsibilities, while Terence and Hermione went off to see Lupin and McGonagall respectively. No essays. No worksheets. No _exams_. And Professor Laurens said he’d keep the art studio open all next week until everyone went home. Harry’s final project for the year had been a pastel piece based off one of Colin Creevey’s photos out a Ravenclaw tower window, but he really wanted to try re-doing it with collage and watercolor…

A shrill, panicked screeching cut through the calm air. Harry jumped, but it was only a cat playing with its prey. Probably one of the rats that infested the castle, like the basilisk used to eat.

“Isn’t that Granger’s ugly cat?” Adrian asked, head tilted back to look up the steps. Harry shielded his eyes from the low evening sun; yeah, that was Crookshanks, trotting down the steps past them, carrying-

“Scabbers?”

“Merlin’s beard, she didn’t name the poor thing _Scabbers_ , did she?”

“No, the cat’s Crookshanks,” Harry said, scrambling to his feet. “That’s Weasley’s rat.” Crookshanks sped up, an orange blur against the green grass. Harry gave chase. Adrian groaned a half-hearted curse and rolled off the steps after him.

“How can you even _tell_?” Adrian asked as they ran. “Castle must have thousands of rats.”

“It’s the one that looks the worst.” Crookshanks was getting harder to see as the sun lowered, but Scabbers’ desperate squealing kept Harry on course. “Come on, Weasley already thinks Crookshanks killed it, he only _just_ forgave Hermione, we gotta-”

“Whoa!” Adrian yanked Harry back by the neck of his robes. “Watch it!”

“Adrian, let go-”

“Don’t be dumb!”

Harry stopped trying to tug his robes from her grasp, and looked up; they were perhaps ten feet away from the dangling vines of the Whomping Willow, already stirring irritably as Crookshanks darted between them.

“Smart cat,” Adrian muttered. “Nobody’d take its kill away when it’s- _what the hell?_ ”

Crookshanks had just vanished into a deep shadow between two large, gnarled roots of the Willow. Harry gasped. “The secret tunnel! Fred and George told me about it, I thought they were messing with me.”

“Well it’s a bit useless with the Whomper over it, isn’t it?”

“There’s a knot that makes it freeze up,” Harry said. He pointed. “There, see? You just gotta poke it with a stick or something.” He looked around frantically. “You see any? We gotta save that stupid rat.”

“Got it!” Adrian cried. She held up a rock triumphantly. “Stand back.” Harry stepped to the side. Adrian took a hard look at the Willow’s vines, still shifting restlessly, though not yet violently, and pulled her arm back. She threw the rock, striking the knot. The tree instantly stilled. “Ha!”

Harry dove for the deep shadow immediately. Adrian followed, and they went tumbling down an earthen hole, landing unceremoniously in a low-roofed tunnel. Scabbers’ cries echoed from far ahead. Harry set off at a run, bent over. Adrian had to adopt an awkward four-limped lope.

They nearly caught up to the cat when the tunnel sloped upwards, but Crookshanks, alerted by Adrian’s cussing each time she bashed her head on the tunnel’s roof, sped up again. Harry’s fingers just missed the ginger bottle-brush tail as Crookshanks slipped through a trap door, which promptly smashed Harry’s fingers.

“Ouch!”

He shoved the trap door open and hauled himself up. They were in a dusty, wooden-floored house, surrounded by broken furniture. Harry barely noticed, racing to chase the cat up a flight of stairs, down a short hall, and into a room with an enormous, four-poster bed. He tripped halfway across the room and, miraculously, landed belly-first on Crookshanks. “Gotcha!” Harry wrested the shrieking rat away from the yowling cat and sat back on his heels.

“Whoa,” Adrian said, stepping up behind him. Harry twisted around to grin up at her, Scabbers clutched safely in his hands. “I can’t believe you actually-” Adrian frowned, peering past Harry into the room. The windows were boarded up, casting the entire house into dusty gloom. Adrian pulled her wand. “ _Lumos_.”

Two eyes shone from the shadows.


	17. These Are Hard Times For Dreamers

“Oh, _fuck_.”

It was the dog, the one from Magnolia Crescent, from the Quidditch match, from the Forbidden Forest. It leapt over Harry and knocked Adrian to the floor. She flung her arms over her face; the dog’s snapping jaws clamped over her wand. A split second later the dog was gone, and a filthy, long-haired man slammed the door shut.

“ _Expelliarmus!_ ” His voice was hoarse, scratchy. Harry’s wand zoomed out of this pocket, straight into the man’s hand. Adrian’s wand was still glowing, casting the man’s gaunt face into horrific, sharp lines, which jerked violently as he stepped towards them.

“Just. Hand me. _The rat_.”

Adrian scrambled away, deeper into the room, shoving Harry backwards as well. Crookshanks darted off under the four-poster bed.

“No!” Harry yelled. “Stay back!”

To his immense surprise, the man froze. His features were easier to make out now, still distorted by the wandlight but no longer shifting. It was the face from the Daily Prophet, skeletal, hungry, and strangely scared.

“You don’t know who you’re holding,” Sirius Black said, ignoring Adrian entirely, eyes fixed on Harry and Scabbers. “Harry, _please-_ ”

“Don’t call me that!” Harry tried to push himself up, but his hands were still full of rat. Scabbers had gone still in his hands, tiny rapid heartbeats the only clue he was even alive. Harry glared around Adrian’s side at the tense form of Sirius Black. “You don’t get to call me that!”

“I-”

“ _Accio wand!_ ”

A stunned silence gripped the room as Harry and Black both stared at Adrian. Her wand and Harry’s remained firmly in Black’s grip. “Worth a try,” she muttered, pushing herself off the floor, standing between Black and Harry, hands balled into fists. Her head turned a fraction, her eyes flicked towards Harry, and then warily settled on Black. “…what happens if we give you the rat?”

“He kills us next,” Harry said darkly.

Black blinked, sunken eyes widening. “I would _never-_ ”

“What? Never what?” Harry snapped. He finally managed to stand up as well by pushing his back against the wall. “Kill just _two_ people? Need an audience do you, a street full of victims to really get a proper kick out of it?” He was snarling, angrier than he’d ever been in his life. His parent’s betrayer, the reason they were dead, was _right in front of him_ , and Harry couldn’t _do_ anything without dropping Weasley’s stupid rat.

For a long moment, everyone’s harsh breathing was the only sound in the room.

“I’d never hurt you,” Black said, his cracked voice oddly soft. But he didn’t lower the wand. “I swear, I’m only here for the rat.”

“Most kids get hurt when you kill their parents,” Adrian said. Black flinched. Thunderous footsteps broke the stand-off; Black jumped to the side as the door slammed open.

“Adrian!” Terence burst into the room. “It’s Pettigrew! He’s not dead!”

“Terence, _run!_ ” Adrian pointed towards Black, who’d already raised the wand to disarm Terence as well.

Shouting a _very_ rude word, Terence flung himself onto the older wizard. Sirius Black might have been taller and more experienced, but Terence was twice as broad and had been eating three square meals a day courtesy of the Hogwarts kitchens. A moment later Terence emerged from the fistfight with a split lip and both wands; Black remained on the floor, wheezing from a knee to the gut.

“Professor!” Terence yelled, throwing Harry and Adrian’s wands towards them. Adrian caught them both with practiced ease. “Professor, I found them!”

“Oh good,” Lupin’s mild voice floated into the room, followed a second later by the Defense professor himself. “Do they have Pettigrew?”

“Didn’t ask,” Terence said, keeping his own wand pointed at the groaning Sirius Black. “Got distracted. Hey, Adrian, you two didn’t happen to find a rat in here, did you?”

“Yeah, actually,” Adrian said. Her voice sounded as strained and confused as Harry felt. She grabbed his shoulder and started edging them along the wall towards the door. “What’s going on?”

“We saw you on the map,” Terence said with a shrug. He patted his pocket, then swore. “Must’ve left it on the desk…”

“What map?” Harry asked.

“The Marauder’s Map?” Black asked, still on the floor. Professor Lupin stared down at him with a guardedly hopeful expression.

“The Weasleys’ parchment,” Terence explained, grinning. He winced and pressed a palm to his lip. “Bloody thing’s a map of the school, changes when things move, and everyone’s little dots with their name on ‘em. Professor Lupin was showing me how it worked, when we saw you just outside the Whomping Willow, and Pettigrew there vanish down the tunnel.”

“I thought the rat was called Scabbers?” Adrian asked. She turned towards Harry for confirmation, but snapped her attention back to Black as he pushed himself up on his elbows, wearing a hopeful expression awfully similar to Lupin’s.

“Do you mean…Peter Pettigrew?” Harry asked. Scabbers started trying to wriggle out of his hands again. “From the Prophet? Black blew him up.”

“I _tried_ ,” Black snarled from the floor. “But little Peter slipped down the drain.”

“What-”

“Unregistered Animagus,” Terence said gleefully.

“You can do that?” Adrian asked. “I thought the Ministry tracked all that, like they do with underage magic.”

“Nope,” Terence said rapturously. “They can’t. Made it illegal to become one without registering, but it’s _because_ it’s so damn hard to detect. Professor Lupin told me on the way down. Pettigrew was at school with him. Turns into a rat.”

“He turns into a dog,” Adrian said, pointing to Black again. “Jumped me when we got here.”

“Wait…” Terence lost his smile. He glowered at Lupin. “You didn’t mention that.”

“I didn’t realize he was here,” Lupin said quietly. “The Map only shows the Hogwarts grounds, and the Shrieking Shack is beyond that.” He scuffed his foot against Black’s, halfway between a nudge and a kick. “You complete idiot. You _switched_?”

Slowly, deliberately, Black nodded. Lupin’s face broke into a wide, relieved smile. He shoved his wand into his pocket and held out a hand to help Black up.

“What. The. _Shit_.” Harry said, almost dropping the terrified rat.

“Harry,” Lupin said, looking over at him even as he tugged Black to his feet. “It seems we have made a grave error in our estimates of the events of twelve years ago. Have you spotted the variables?”

“Professor,” Harry said, trying to sound calm, which was not easy while fighting Scabbers’ increasingly frantic escape attempts. “Black killed my parents, and almost bit Adrian’s face off, and now Weasley’s rat is trying to bite my fingers off too. I really, really, don’t want to do a lesson right now.”

Black barked with laughter and clapped Lupin on the shoulder. “Sounds just like James, doesn’t-”

“Don’t talk about my dad,” Harry snapped, but no one heard him, because Terence had just shouted “Oh, _bugger_ ,” at the same moment and yanked Scabbers out of Harry’s grasp. Scabbers shrieked.

“Variables,” Terence muttered, glaring down at the rat in his hands. He elbowed Adrian.

“ _What?_ ” she snapped.

“The Potters turned down Dumbledore for Secret-Keeper ‘cause they thought he was too much of a target, right?” Adrian shrugged, but Lupin was nodding approvingly. Terence kept talking without paying much attention to either of them. He’d gotten a thumb down atop Scabber’s skull, pressing the rat’s head against his knuckle, keeping him from biting. “The Blacks are pureblood, right? Got that pretentious _Toujours Pur_ motto and everything. Heard Malfoy bragging about his mum being one.”

“Ugh, yeah,” Adrian said. “And Bellatrix Lestrange too, and she was a Death-” Adrian cut herself off, frowning thoughtfully at Black. “…you were on Dumbledore’s side. You were a target.”

“I thought-” Black’s voice cracked. “I thought they’d ignore Peter, thought we could hide him too. We knew word of the Fidelius Charm might’ve already reached Voldemort, there’d been a spy leaking secrets for a _year_ -” His face twisted with rage, and he spat on the floor. “The spy _was_ Peter.”

“Are you saying Weasley’s pet rat got my parents killed?” Harry asked, not sure what to think anymore. No one had told him Peter Pettigrew was close enough to his parents to Keep their Secret. No one had told him there was a spy around for a year. But then again, he’d had to learn Pettigrew’s death was more than a coincidence from Weasley and Longbottom overhearing it. Had to learn Black was after him the same way. Had to learn there _was_ such a thing as Secret Keepers from Gemma.

“Maybe,” Terence said. Blood trickled down his chin from the split lip. “Could be lying. Could’ve been either of them. Makes more sense for Black to spy for his family.”

“Of course,” Black snapped, sharp and bitter enough that the teens all jumped back. “Spy for the bastards that disowned me at sixteen, betray the friend who took me in?”

Terence, tenser now, words coming out carefully, slow as molasses, said “You all graduated into the war, didn’t you? Could have been playing the long game.”

Black snarled, shoulders rising like a dog’s hackles. Lupin quickly stepped in between everyone. “Sirius, _calm down_. They weren’t there. They don’t know what it was like.”

“There for the end,” Adrian muttered. Harry, finally free of his rodent encumbrance, squeezed her arm.

“I think,” Lupin said. “It’s time we heard from Peter himself. Terence, if you would hold him out…” White-blue light burst from Lupin’s wand the moment Terence thrust out his arm. Frantic shrieking turned into a piteous human wail as Scabbers changed; this was not the quick, seamless transition that Black had undergone. This was an eruption. Tiny claws into scrabbling fingers, skin overtaking fur as Pettigrew rose. Terence flung the grotesque creature from his hand, and human feet hit the floor. Peter Pettigrew stood before them, barely taller than Harry, thin as Black, draped in baggy, filthy clothes made for a heavier wizard, twisting himself into knots and looking around wildly.

“ _Run!_ ” his human voice was hardly less of a shriek than the rat’s. He darted for the door; Lupin shoved him to the floor. Crookshanks hissed at him from under the bed. “Children, run! Run! He’ll kill you!”

“Hasn’t yet-”

“He’s a werewolf!”

“Uh…” Adrian said disbelievingly. “I think someone at Azkaban would have noticed if-”

“No, him!” Pettigrew pointed dramatically to Lupin, hand shaking. “You’ve got to run!”

There was a beat of silence, and then Terence and Adrian fell over each other laughing.

“P-p-professor Lup-p-p-p-p-pin?” Terence got out past the chortles. “A _werewolf?_ ”

“No way,” Adrian said, holding on to Terence’s shoulder to keep herself up. “Oh man, oh man, were you idiots _all_ in Gryffindor? You must’ve been. That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard.”

“It’s not a lie!” Pettigrew insisted. Lupin was standing very, very still, his face very, very, blank. “He nearly killed Severus our fifth year!”

“Oh, now I _know_ you’re lying,” Adrian said. “Professor Snape would’ve told us if Professor Lupin was dangerous.”

“ _Professor_ Snape?” Black asked, sounding even more disbelieving than Adrian. “They made that slimeball a _professor_?”

“ ‘That slimeball’ is our head of house,” Terence said, his attempted glare at Black foiled by the paroxysms of laughter.

“And he looks out for us Slytherins,” Adrian added proudly.

Harry snorted. “Yeah, I felt really looked out for back when people were shoving me into walls,” he said sarcastically.

“People shoved you into walls?” Terence asked, laughter abruptly cut off by concern in a way it hadn’t been by offense.

“I didn’t know that,” Adrian said, frowning at Harry. “Why didn’t I know that?”

“We weren’t friends yet,” Harry explained. “They stopped before break my first year. Anyway, _you_ said Snape wasn’t big on safety when you started at Hogwarts. Like when Marcus chucked you in the lake.”

“Well I was the one dumb enough to sit in the window where he could get a clean shot at me,” Adrian said. “I learned. And Professor Snape _did_ tell a Ravenclaw off for picking on me our first year.”

“Of course he did, if it meant taking points off another house,” Black said.

Adrian scowled at him. “You didn’t even _know_ he was a teacher until we said so just now! Don’t act like you know anything!” She turned back to Harry, clearly bothered. “If he didn’t know it was happening-”

“He did,” Harry said flatly. “Back when he was acting like I was invisible. Saw it happen. Walked right by. Didn’t say a word.”

“What do you mean, acting like you were invisible?” Adrian asked, pressing her hands against her temples.

“Exactly what it sound like, I imagine,” Lupin said. He looked concerned. “Harry, did you ever tell the Headmaster about this?”

Harry blinked at him. “Why would I do that?”

Adrian started swearing. Terence’s brows furrowed. “You said invisibility might be catching, back this fall. Is it still happening?”

Harry fidgeted, looking away from his friends. His eyes fell on Pettigrew, cringing on the floor. “Aren’t we trying to figure out who _really_ betrayed my parents?” Harry snapped, gesturing between Pettigrew and Black. Adrian dropped her hands, clenching them by her sides, and Terence’s frown grew worse, but Crookshanks meowed loudly in agreement.

“Him!” Pettigrew cried, now pointing at Black, earning another hiss from the ginger cat. “He sold them to He Who Must Not Be Named, and tried to kill me to silence me!”

“Why’d you _stay_ silenced, then?” Adrian asked. “Coulda come forward and claimed that damn metal, could’ve you?”

“Order of Merlin, First Class,” Terence added helpfully.

“But you chose to stay a rat,” Adrian sneered.

“I was afraid!” Pettigrew said, wringing his hands beseechingly.

“Damn right you were afraid,” Black said. “You never hid from _me_. You hid from your Death Eaters chums. They scream in their cells, you know.”

“No, no, I was frightened of you, I knew you’d be after me-”

“Sometimes it’s even coherent,” Black went on mercilessly, talking over Pettigrew’s protestations. “And oh Wormtail, they _all_ want you dead. Your information brought down their friend, after all. And they didn’t all get caught, did they?”

Adrian paled as Black taunted Pettigrew, her wand shaking in her hand. Terence noticed, and loudly cut in with a question of his own. “Mr. Pettigrew, you realize you pretty much just said Mr. Black _isn’t_ a Death Eater?”

“He is!” Pettigrew squeaked. “The worst of all! You must believe me, I couldn’t reveal myself! I knew he’d stop at nothing, knew the moment he killed all those poor Muggles. I knew he’d find a way to escape, knew I must hide!”

“Hey,” Adrian said, brows knitting. “How _did_ you escape?” she asked Black. “There’s not gonna be…there’s not gonna be more people breaking out too, is there?”

He tilted his head thoughtfully. “No. I never smelled any other animals, when I was transformed.” He paused to sniff speculatively, and frowned. “Smelled someone like you though…”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Adrian said angrily. Harry squeezed her arm again, and so did Terence. “ _How’d_ you break out?”

“I’ve been wondering that as well, Sirius,” Lupin said mildly.

“But Professor, you already told us,” Harry said, thinking quickly back on their Patronus lessons. “Dementors can’t see, just…smell? Smell emotions? So if someone transformed, the dementors wouldn’t know. And Azkaban is built for human-shaped people, isn’t it…?” He trailed off. He couldn’t imagine the bear-sized dog slipping through any bars designed to hold in a wizard.

“Dementors drain magic, though,” Adrian said. “It’s not just taking wands away that keeps people in. Desperate people’ve done powerful wandless magic. Dementors stop that.”

“He Who Must Not Be Named taught him dark secrets!” Pettigrew interrupted.

“If _that_ was all, Lestrange would have escaped years ago,” Adrian snapped. Pettigrew flinched. “I asked for _his_ explanation, not yours.” She turned expectantly towards Black.

“I knew I was innocent,” he said bleakly. “It wasn’t a _happy_ thought, so they couldn’t take it away. It kept me sane. Harry’s right. I was able to turn into my dog self when it was all too much, and eventually slip through the bars.” He grinned sheepishly. “The swim nearly did me in.”

“It took you twelve years to get skinny enough to slip out?” Lupin asked, raising his brows.

“Twelve years to find a reason to bother,” Black said. “I was sane, not…” Unsure how to end that sentence, Black rummaged inside his grimy robes instead, and handed over a folded newspaper clipping. “Fudge came for an inspection. Let me take his paper. Saw this. Knew I had to come.”

Lupin angled the newspaper clipping so the teenagers could see as well. A photo of the Weasley family waved up at them, cheerfully posed in front of the pyramids. Right in the middle, perched on Ron’s shoulder, sat Scabbers.

“Said the youngest were going back to Hogwarts,” Black explained softly. “Couldn’t let Peter just stay there, could I? Not when he’d be in the perfect place to hurt Harry if Voldemort returned.” He looked directly at Harry, ignoring Pettigrew on the floor, Lupin by the door, Terence and Adrian still trying to keep themselves between Harry and all the grown wizards. “I am, so, so sorry, that I did not come sooner.”

Harry’s anger had seeped out of him as Sirius talked, as the truth edged its way in. Sirius had not betrayed his parents. Had spent twelve years trapped with dementors, with the creatures that sent Harry plummeting to the ground. Had plunged into icy waters the moment he learned Harry was in danger.

“Me too,” he whispered.

“ _No!_ ” Pettigrew screamed. “He’s lying! They’ll kill you all!” He flung himself at Terence’s feet, clutching at his robes. Terence’s lip curled up, and he yanked his robes from Pettigrew’s hands. Adrian kicked, sending Pettigrew sprawling.

“Clever boy, wise boy, don’t you see?” Pettigrew cried from the floor. “He’s a monster, a werewolf, he’s cursed! He’d have killed Severus if James hadn’t stopped him, and it was Sirius’s doing!”

Terence stilled. “Professor,” he said, eyeing Pettigrew warily as he addressed Lupin. “ _Why_ are Black and Pettigrew Animagi?”

“Be damn useful back in the war, wouldn’t it?” Adrian asked, unease creeping into her voice.

“Or if you want to run around with a werewolf and not get turned,” Terence said. Lupin gulped. “Since werewolves only attack _humans_. Did you ever tell the Headmaster or the Aurors that Black could turn into a dog, when he escaped?”

“Ah…”

“Very secretive, werewolves are,” Terence said, fists clenched, still glaring at Pettigrew, as though he couldn’t bear to look at Lupin. “But if it’s all the same to _you_ , sir, I’d really like the truth now, because we just had our Astronomy OWL this week. Tonight’s the full moon.”

“ . . . ”

“Professor, if you don’t tell me the truth _right now_ I’m going to shove this shiny silver prefect’s badge down your _fucking throat_.”

Adrian gave Terence a look of rather surprised approval. Sirius, however, finally snapped his attention from Pettigrew to snarl at Terence. “Don’t talk to him like that-”

“It’s all right, Sirius,” Lupin said, holding up one hand, strained voice at odds with the soothing words. “Terence, my sincerest apologies, I’m afraid our discussion of the map and subsequent discovery of Peter’s survival quite drove the date from my mind. We should have just enough time to deal with Peter, and then I’d be obliged if you would escort everyone back to the castle. I’m sure Professor Dumbledore will appreciate knowing the dementors around the school are no longer necessary.”

Terence’s fists loosened a fraction, but he still wouldn’t look at Lupin. “And where’ll you be while we’re walking a wanted criminal into Hogwarts?”

“Here,” Lupin said.

“In the middle of Hogsmeade?” Adrian asked in horror.

“The Shrieking Shack is perfectly capable of keeping a werewolf contained,” Lupin said, lips twisting in a wry smile. “That is, after all, how I was able to attend Hogwarts.” He began rolling up his sleeves. “Now, Sirius, if you would assist me…”

“Certainly,” Sirius said. “Though I’ll need to borrow a wand.” Pettigrew made another attempt for the door, and was flung back so hard he hit the far wall. Lupin followed up with a snap of his wand, wrapping Pettigrew in ropes.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Terence and Adrian exclaimed together. They shared a look, and Adrian jerked her chin at Terence to continue. “Assist you with what? Deal with how?”

Lupin smiled again, sadder, almost pitying. “Peter’s killed at least a dozen people. We need to make sure he can’t hurt anyone else.”

“So you’re turning him over to the Aurors, right?” Adrian asked, voice gone high and cracked. “Get him the trial Black never had, right?”

Sirius laughed, short and harsh. “A trial? _Aurors?_ For the coward who got James and Lily killed?” His expression turned grim. “There’s only one way to deal with spies and traitors.”

“Uh, keep them alive so you can get information out of them?” Terence said.

“There’s no more information left to get,” Sirius growled.

“ _For god’s sake, the war’s OVER!_ ” Adrian yelled.

A tense silence filled the room, broken only by Pettigrew’s muffled sobs. It was this piteous sound that moved Harry to step past his friends. He knew he ought to hate Pettigrew, that his anger should have slipped from Sirius to Peter when he learned the truth, but instead it had merely slipped away. Sirius and Lupin jumped as Harry stepped between them and Pettigrew. Terence reached out as though he wanted to stop Harry, but withdrew his hand again when Adrian elbowed him.

“You said,” Harry started. He stopped. Took a deep breath. “You said, when my dad realized things had gone too far, he was the first to stop it.”

“Harry…” Lupin and Sirius glanced at each other. “James would be alive, if it weren’t for Peter.”

“I know,” Harry said. “Trust me, _I know_. But he’s not. I am. You have to stop.”

Lupin closed his eyes. Pinched the bridge of his nose. Sighed. “All right…” He handed his wand to Sirius. “Make sure they get back to the castle. Harry, if Pettigrew tries to escape, Sirius _will_ have to…”

Harry took another deep breath. “I understand.”

~~~

Adrian took the lead out of the Shrieking Shack, Terence insisting on guarding their rear in case Professor Lupin transformed earlier than predicted. “As long as you’re out of the tunnel before the moon reaches me, I won’t smell you,” Lupin had assured them. “The influence is delayed when indoors. Please do give my apologies to Severus, he works very hard to brew the Wolfsbane Potion that normally keeps me sane, he must be quite worried to find me gone.”

Crookshanks trotted along smugly just behind Adrian, ginger fur shining in the wandlight. Harry found himself in the middle with Sirius, who dragged Pettigrew along by the conjured ropes.

“Er, Sirius,” Harry said, partway along. Sirius jumped, knocking dirt down from the tunnel roof, and then beamed at him.

“Yes Harry?”

“If Pettigrew was being honest, about Professor Lupin, is it true too, about, er, him nearly killing Professor Snape?”

“Snape deserved it,” Sirius said quickly. “Kept trying to get Remus in trouble. Professor Dumbledore was the one who arranged for Remus to come to Hogwarts, planted the Whomping Willow and everything. But the other students didn’t know about Remus, it would’ve been terrible for him, everyone’s such _bastards_ about werewolves, worse than they are about Muggle-borns-”

“Really?” Harry blinked, thinking about the previous school year.

“Yeah,” Sirius said, scowling. “And Snape kept following us around, trying to figure out what Remus was hiding, trying to get us expelled. So I figured why not give the little sneak what he wants? Told him about the knot on the Willow, let him do the rest. Remus didn’t know.” Sirius winced. “James gave me a right earful over that, once he’d pulled Snape back from the trapdoor before he could get bit.”

“My dad saved Professor Snape?”

“Yeah, weirdest thing,” Sirius said. “James and Snape _hated_ each other before that, kept on hating each other after, but that was James for you. Always the hero.” They walked in silence for a few moments longer, and then Sirius made a thoughtful noise. “Could by why he’s being such a damned a coward and ignoring you.”

“…what?”

“Since you look like James,” Sirius said, grinning. “Must be driving Snape _bonkers_ , if he’s seeing you for class and you’re James all over. Bet he thought he’d never have to deal with any of us Marauders ever again, and then you _and_ Remus are up in the castle with him…”

Harry grinned too. “It’s kinda helped, honestly. I gotta tell you about Longbottom’s toad-”

“Toad stories later,” Adrian called back. “We’re here.” Once she’d scrambled up out of the tunnel, Adrian turned around to help pull the others up. Sirius went backwards, pulling Pettigrew while Terence pushed, and then there were all standing precariously just past the roots of the Whomping Willow. The branches swayed lightly in the summer breeze, but didn’t attack them. Harry wondered if it only responded to outside threats, or if Adrian had hit the knot again-

“Mr. Higgs, _where is the werewolf?_ ”

Everyone jumped; Professor Snape stood well outside the Willow’s range, his own _lumos_ far larger and brighter than the one Adrian had lit. Pettigrew promptly took advantage of the distraction to turn back into a rat, slipping away between the coils or ropes. Sirius fell over, trying to grab him, and Crookshanks shot off with a determined _mrar!_

“Professor Lupin stayed behind in the Shrieking Shack, sir!” Terence yelled, his own wand held high. There was something moving just outside Snape’s wandlight. “He was keeping us safe!”

“Snivellus you _idiot!”_ Sirius yelled. “Peter’s getting away!”

“Snive-? _BLACK!_ ”

Harry had never heard Snape roar like that before, an explosion of shock and rage so strong Snape’s _lumos_ flared out, leaving only Adrian’s wand to light a tiny circle around them.

“GET AWAY FROM MY STUDENTS YOU-”

“It’s all right, professor!” Adrian yelled. The shifting darkness beyond Snape moved closer, and the temperature plummeted. “It wasn’t him, Pettigrew actually-”

_Wham!_

The Whomping Willow woke up with a vengeance; Harry flung his arms up to protect his face, trying to dart out from the whipping vines. _Wham!_ A particularly large branch flung Sirius across the lawn.

“Ow, fuck, ow-” Adrian and Terence danced away from the Willow towards Snape, who had dodged away from Sirius’s thrown form. “Fuck, fuck, my wand! Fuck, not _again!_ ”

Harry threw himself to the ground as the Willow lashed him, rolling across the grass to get away. He shoved himself up just in time to see the source of the cold reach Sirius.

Dementors. Too many to count. Circling the Whomping Willow.

“ _Accio wand!_ Ow!”

The nearest dementor hauled Sirius upright by the collar of his robes, towards its shadowed hood. Harry ran towards them, fumbling at his sleeve for his own wand, cursing himself for thinking it was safe enough to put away, fingers too numb to properly grasp it-

_Not Harry, please, not Harry, take me, kill me instead-_

“No!”

Harry grabbed Sirius and jerked him from the dementor’s grasp as its horrible sucking rattle filled his ears.

“ _Accio you useless hunk of kindling!_ ”

Harry barely noticed Adrian’s wand zoom past his face as the dementor grabbed him instead of Sirius, clammy fingers tight around his jaw, stronger and colder than the boggart’s had been.

“I did it, I did it, Terence did you see!”

The grounds were gone, the dementors were gone, there was nothing but a thick, freezing fog around Harry and inside him, nothing but screams and loneliness and green green green-

“ _EXPECTO PATRONUM!”_

Bright silver filled Harry’s sight. He jerked backwards, tripping over Sirius’s prone form. A silver crow mantled between him and the dementor, pecking at its hooded face. Harry lay on his back, half on-top of Sirius, shaking violently. A large silver sea turtle floated serenely past, driving the other dementors away as the crow forced the first one to retreat.

“Mr. Higgs, Miss Pucey, the dementors are here to _protect the school-_ ”

“They nearly killed Potter!” Adrian yelled. Harry tried to sit up and couldn’t. The patronuses had chased away the dementors, but their influence lingered. Everyone’s voices sounded far away. “Maybe if you hadn’t been _ignoring_ him you’d’ve noticed that!”

“Do not speak of things you don’t understand, Miss Pucey,” Snape said coldly. “Mr. Higgs, would you _stop that-_ ”

“Can’t, sir,” Terence said. The sea turtle went by again, smaller. No. Further away. Harry blinked hard, trying to drive the fog from his vision. His arms stung from Whomping Willow lacerations. “Gotta keep those things away from Harry; that was the Kiss they just tried.”

“They are authorized to administer it to Sirius Black-”

“Well I want ‘em further away before I get Harry to the hospital wing.” Did Terence just… _interrupt_ Professor Snape?

“Then I leave that task in your capable hands,” Snape said. Was that sarcasm? Or was he serious? This damned fog- “If you won’t let the dementors do their jobs, I shall need to lock Black up until he can be dealt with.”

“Of course, sir,” Terence said, and Adrian grabbed Harry under the armpits, pulling him off of Sirius. Upright, supported by Adrian, he saw Terence calmly, steadily, circling his wand through the air, directing his patronus, which was now a bare glimmer of silver in the distance.

“Are you okay?” Adrian asked quietly, as Snape levitated Sirius’s unconscious form into the air.

“M’fn,” Harry said. Wiggled his jaw. “M’fine.” He almost fell again when they started walking. Adrian slowed down, letting him set the pace. He could hear Snape’s angry, slapping footsteps once they reached the castle’s stone floors. “We gotta-” Harry said, as quietly as he could. “We gotta save Sirius. We can’t let-”

“I know,” Adrian said. “Sh.”

Harry shushed. Snape’s footsteps were getting farther away, and so were Terence’s, and soon he couldn’t hear Snape’s anymore. Then Terence’s got louder.

“What do you bet,” Terence said. “That he meant the same sort of ‘dealt with’ about Black, that Black and Professor Lupin meant about Pettigrew?”

“Bet my Comet,” Adrian said. “You see where he stashed ‘im?”

“Yeah. C’mon. If we let the dementors suck his soul out, no one’ll _ever_ believe us about Pettigrew, and I’m _not_ letting some backstabbing rat run around unchecked. Especially a literal one.”

“Professor Snape still there?”

“Think he’s getting the Headmaster.”

The shakes wouldn’t lessen, but Harry’s vision and hearing were back to normal by the time they stopped in front of a heavy wooden door in the middle of a hallway, several stair-flights up. The door-handle and keyhole were transfigured into a single, warped mass of metal.

Terence whistled. “The professor _really_ doesn’t like Black, does he?” Before anyone could answer, he banged on the door. A few drops of blood splattered on the floor; like Harry’s, Terence and Adrian’s uniform sleeves were ripped up, their arms laced with cuts from the Whomping Willow. “Oy! You conscious?”

“Unfortunately,” Sirius said dryly.

“Good, ‘cause we only got a couple minutes,” Terence said. “You still got Professor Lupin’s wand?”

“No. And before you ask, I’ve already tried the window.”

“Bugger.” Terence poked the lump of metal. “Alohamora’s right out, and I dunno how to undo this-”

“Go keep watch,” Adrian said suddenly, voice tight. She started to pull her arm away from Harry, paused when he swayed, and helped him sit down instead as Terence, after one sharp look, padded off down the hall. “If we get you out,” Adrian called through the door. “Can you get outta the castle on your own, and off the grounds?”

“Who the hell do you think I am?” Sirius sounded _offended_.

“A bloody idiot who keeps getting locked up, that’s who,” Adrian shot back. “Can you or can’t you?”

“…yes.”

“Then step back.”

Adrian shoved her wand back into her pocket and rolled up one tattered sleeve. She smeared her hand across the Willow wounds, painting palm and fingers bright with blood. A deep breath, dropped shoulders, and she slapped her bloody hand against the door.

“ _Incendent ostium!”_

Smoke billowed out from Adrian’s palm.

“ _Incendent ostium!”_

Flames followed, racing to the doorframe, Adrian’s hand held steady in the middle of the fire.

“ _Incendent ostium!”_

The flames vanished, leaving a dancing afterimage in Harry’s eyes. The hinges and warped lock fell to the stone floor with a loud _thunk_ , immediately coated with ash.

Sirius stood in the middle of the room, expression horrified. “I’ve seen this,” he croaked, shuffling forward to gape at the remains of the door. “Houses with ancient wards no one had ever- families we thought were _safe-_ ”

“It only works on wood,” Adrian said, shoulders hunching. “Would you hurry it up?”

Sirius stepped over the line of ash, unable to look away from it, speaking as though he hadn’t heard her. “I’ve only seen this when the Dark Mark-”

“I _know_ ,” Adrian snapped. Now Sirius did look at her, eyes haunted. His face twisted in a strange smile. He reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

“…my family was like that too.”

Sirius let go, dropped to one knee, and pulled Harry into a hug. It was warm and comforting and stilled the shaking. Then he was gone, a large black dog bounding away.


	18. Looks Like I'm Taking The Hard Way Home

“Madam Pomfrey! _Madam Pomfrey!_ ”

They stumbled into the infirmary together, Harry half-dragged by Terence, Adrian holding the door open and yelling.

“What on earth _happened_ to you all?” Pomfrey exclaimed, rushing over from her office. They must have been an alarming sight, Harry shaking again, Terence’s lip puffed up, half of Adrian’s face streaked red from a scalp wound the Willow gave her, and all of their arms proper messes.

“Whomping Willow and some dementors,” Terence said. “They nearly got Harry, please-”

“This way,” Pomfrey said firmly, and soon Harry was half-lying, half-sitting on the nearest hospital bed, while Pomfrey peered into his eyes and tested his reflexes. “No permanent damage,” she said at last, and began cleaning and closing the cuts along his arms with her wand. “We really do need to see if Pomona can make a sedative for that tree. Do any other staff know about the dementor’s conduct, yet?”

“We think Professor Snape actually brought them onto the grounds, ma’am,” Terence said quietly.

“He did _what?!_ ”

“We chased them off,” Adrian said hurriedly. She held a compress Pomfrey had conjured against her scalp. “Dunno if it’ll stick-”

“We need to see the Headmaster,” Terence said, and turned back for the door.

“Not while you’re bleeding you’re not,” Pomfrey said, sitting him and Adrian down on the next bed over. “I shall alert him. Stay _here_.” She bustled back into her office, and there were two _fwoosh_ noises of a fire flaring up. Terence crossed his arms and chewed his split lip. He stood up again when Pomfrey returned, carrying a gigantic block of chocolate and two regular bars.

“The Headmaster-”

“Is not in his office,” Pomfrey said. “But Minerva is now making sure the dementors stay where they are _supposed_ to.” She pressed a hand down on his shoulder, making him sit again, forcing one of the chocolate bars into his hand at the same time. Adrian started gnawing at her own bar without being prompted, but Harry was still woozy enough that he just stared at the large block Pomfrey dropped into his hands until Terence coughed at him. Pomfrey hadn’t noticed this delay, busy drawing her wand across the older teens’ numerous wounds.

“They were instructed to come here, Headmaster.” Snape’s voice echoed in from the infirmary’s open door, followed a second later by the man himself, and Professor Dumbledore. “As you can see, the students are perfectly all right-” Dumbledore ignored Snape’s words, striding into the hospital wing faster than Harry had ever seen him move before, a cold glint in his normally twinkling eyes.

“Headmaster,” Madam Pomfrey said, straightening up. “I must insist you see to the dementors-”

“Severus has informed me of the situation, Poppy,” Dumbledore said. He leaned towards Harry, looking him over. It was embarrassing to be held to such sharp scrutiny when his uniform was a mess, his hair had dirt in it from the tunnel roof, and his hands and face had chocolate all over them from gnawing at the block. “Harry, did Black hurt you?”

“Wha-?” Harry struggled to swallow the chocolate still in his mouth. “No, sir, he wouldn’t!”

“Harry, there are a great many things I once thought Sirius Black would not do-”

“But that’s the thing, Headmaster,” Adrian interrupted. “He really _didn’t_ , it was Peter Pettigrew, he’s been living as a rat-”

“Are you _confunded_?” Snape roared. “Black killed Pettigrew-”

“No, he didn’t sir, we saw him ourselves-”

“Are _you_ confunded?” Pomfrey snapped, drowning out Adrian’s protest. “Bringing dementors onto school grounds, letting them near a child! This boy was half-dead when he arrived here, Severus-”

“Poppy,” Dumbledore said sharply. Madam Pomfrey fell silent, lips pressed in a tight line, and started angrily Healing Terence’s arm.

Adrian kept going. “We really did see him Headmaster, Pettigrew’s an Animagus who faked his death, he was the Potters’ Secret Keeper, not Black. Been living as Weasley’s familiar to keep an eye on things, got into a tiff with another familiar tonight and we tried to break it up, sir, and everything, sort of, well, snowballed. Professor Lupin’ll be able to explain it better than us, honestly, once he’s…feeling better.”

At the words _Secret Keeper_ Professor Dumbledore jerked upright with a start, turning from Harry to Adrian. Snape scowled. “Headmaster, Pettigrew has been dead for twelve years, Black has clearly cast the Confundus Charm on my students-”

“But he cannot have confunded himself, Severus,” Dumbledore said. Harry took advantage of his distraction to cram more chocolate into his mouth; he felt warmer and more awake with every bite. “And if Professor Lupin realized Peter Pettigrew was still alive, it would explain his reckless behavior tonight. It behooves us to investigate these claims before allowing the Ministry to collect Black.”

“Headmaster,” Terence said suddenly, as Pomfrey closed the last of his cuts. “Is it true, that Sirius Black was never given a trial?” Dumbledore nodded. Terence gulped. “Then, as a prefect, I am formally protesting any action by the school that would place him in the hands of dementors.”

Dumbledore smiled, twinkle returning. Snape’s scowl deepened.

“Your protest is noted, Slytherin Prefect Terence Higgs,” Dumbledore said. He nodded to Pomfrey and took Snape by the elbow. “And now we must, I am afraid, interrogate our prisoner before taking further action.” His voice grew quiet as he walked away, but they still heard Dumbledore say “Severus, I believe a stop by your store-rooms for a vial of Veritiserum would be wise…”

“There are ways around truth-serums, Headmaster,” Snape said, not keeping his voice down at all, and slammed the door behind them.

“Well!” Pomfrey said. She took a brief moment to review everyone; Adrian’s left arm was the only injured location left. Terence chewed at his fixed lip, glancing towards the door every few seconds. Harry worked steadily on the chocolate block, pushing himself into a better sitting position with one smeary hand.

“Hm,” Pomfrey said thoughtfully, pulling them from their reveries. Only two large gashes remained on Adrian’s outer forearm, just below her elbow. Adrian held her breath as Pomfrey cast the Healing charm again, frowned, and tried once more. Pomfrey sighed. “Dear, I’m sorry. This won’t Heal normally. Here.” She pressed a fresh compress to Adrian’s arm, placing Adrian’s right hand over it to hold it in place while she went to her office, and returned with a small jar and a bundle of bright purple bandages, just like the ones Old Tom at the Leaky Cauldron had once wrapped around Harry’s owl-talon injuries. The jar even contained the same dark green paste, smelling of rose tea.

“It _will_ heal eventually,” Pomfrey assured Adrian, and Terence relaxed. Adrian did not. “It may scar, however. You’ve likely been overexposed.”

“…pardon?” Adrian asked, tension replaced with confusion.

“It’s a rare reaction to magical plants,” Pomfrey explained, slathering on the green paste. “The same thing happened to a boy nearly twenty years ago, almost lost an eye because he’d teased the Whomping Willow too many times. Missed by half an inch, he’s still got the scar. I’ll let Professor Sprout know to let you take extra precautions in Herbology. You should still Heal fine from non-Willow wounds, but if you’re prone to it, the chance of you being overexposed to other magical plants must not be ignored.”

“Oh,” Adrian said. Pomfrey wrapped half her forearm in the purple bandages.

“Now don’t take these off-”

“-myself,” Adrian said, grinning. “Thank you, Madam Pomfrey.”

“Hmph,” Pomfrey sniffed. “See me before getting on the Express. Now, all of you are staying overnight-”

“ _WHERE IS HE!_ ”

Snape burst back into the infirmary, face contorted with rage. He stormed over to the students, Dumbledore following with his hands clasped behind his back, both of them stopped by Madam Pomfrey stepping squarely into Snape’s path. Terence and Adrian hastily shoved the bars of chocolate Pomfrey had brought them earlier into their mouths to disguise their unsurprised expressions.

“Severus this is a _hospital-_ ”

“THEY LET HIM OUT!” Snape roared.

“Severus, you will calm down, or I will throw you out!” Pomfrey said, fists on her hips.

“Miss Pucey, Mr. Higgs,” Dumbledore said calmly, as though no one was yelling. “After the events around the Whomping Willow, did you bring Harry straight here, as instructed by Professor Snape?”

“He didn’t instruct us to do that, sir,” Terence said, setting his chocolate bar on his knee. “Yelled at us for banishing the dementor, actually, but yes, sir, we brought Harry straight here.”

“Did you know Professor Snape’s been pretending Potter’s invisible all year?” Adrian asked, voice muffled by the chocolate bar she was still chewing on. Harry’s face went hot, why would she _mention_ that-

“Goodness me, really?” Dumbledore said in surprise. “Severus, I thought after the troll-”

“There is a difference between ignoring a student completely, and simply ignoring immature, attention-grabbing antics,” Snape said, and Harry’s flush of shame turned to one of anger. _Attention-grabbing? Immature?_ He hadn’t even done anything noisy in class since December!

“You weren’t even looking properly when the dementor grabbed ‘im!” Adrian said angrily. “And you’re our Head of House, too!”

“And for this imagined slight, you free Sirius Black from spite?” Snape asked, his quiet, even tone somehow more frightening than the shouting had been. Adrian glowered, and took another large bite of her chocolate bar instead of answering. “Give me your wands. _Now._ ”

“Sir?” Terence asked, hand automatically going to his pocket.

“Simply holding them out will suffice,” Dumbledore said reassuringly. Terence held out his wand, looking between Snape and Dumbledore. The Headmaster drew his own, and pointed it at Terence’s. “ _Prior incantato!_ ”

Terence’s sea turtle rose from the tip of his wand, still silver, but mistier than a true Patronus. It circled the adults twice and the dissipated. Adrian promptly stuck out her own wand, and Dumbledore’s spell drew forth her crow. It mantled in the Headmaster’s face, silently shrieking, before it too dissipated.

“What’s that on your arm?” Snape asked sharply, pointing to the purple bandages.

“She’s been overexposed to the Whomping Willow,” Pomfrey said, drawing herself up very tall. “Perhaps if you had not kept your students _corralled_ there with _dementors-_ ”

Snape sneered, but it was rather like the one Draco pulled when he was embarrassed. Pomfrey sniffed in disdain. Ignoring them, Dumbledore turned his wand towards Harry’s. What _had_ Harry last cast, anyway? _Lumos_ in the Shack? No, that had been Adrian. And he’d never gotten out an _Expelliarmus_ either…oh, it must’ve been Professor Lupin’s final exam-

“ _Prior incantato!_ ”

Harry’s silver doe burst from his wand, lashing the air with her front hooves before circling the room in joyful bounds. Harry had been so _proud_ about making it through the obstacle course. The doe stopped between him and Professor Snape, flicked her tail, and turned to vapor, leaving Snape staring in shock directly at Harry’s grinning face.

The Potions Master abruptly turned on one heel and strode from the room.

“ _Now_ may my patients rest?” Pomfrey asked Dumbledore sternly.

“Yes, Poppy, I daresay they may.”

~~~

Harry awoke the next morning in the infirmary to the cacophonous sound of Adrian laughing herself sick while Hermione and Daphne bombarded him with questions. Why hadn’t he ever come back to the dungeon last night? Had he heard about Professor Lupin being a werewolf? Did the dementors _really_ come onto the grounds and try to Kiss him?

“And it turns out Scabbers was actually a wizard named Peter Pettigrew,” Hermione said, before Harry could even try to answer. Daphne shuddered. “And _he_ was the real person who betrayed your parents, and then framed Sirius Black for it- oh! Do you know about Secret Keepers?”

“Yeah, I do,” Harry said. “Wait, why do _you_ know?”

“Ron and Neville told me about hearing Minister Fudge and some professors talking about it,” Hermione said. “I didn’t bring it up because it seemed so sad, your parents naming Sirius Black your godfather before he betrayed them-”

“They told _me_ about that!” Harry said. “I didn’t want you to worry more- wait, he’s my _godfather?_ ”

Adrian laughed harder. Daphne still had her hands pressed over her mouth, eyes wide, and added in a muffled voice “Terence Higgs went and told all the other prefects about last night, I overheard him telling Olivia Shardlow and Miles Bletchley. He’s pretty mad that no one told them about the secret tunnel under the Whomping Willow? And at breakfast after Professor Snape told us about Professor Lupin’s, um, condition, Terence stood up and went on a big rant about the dementors nearly killing you, and now half our house is writing all our parents to pressure the Minister into sending them back to Azkaban.”

Harry’s mind was reeling. Sirius was his _godfather_? Snape snitched on Lupin? Everyone was yelling at the Minister of Magic- for _Harry?_

“Draco’s tying himself in knots,” Daphne continued, which got Hermione to roll her eyes, and Adrian to nearly fall off the other bed laughing. “Because Sirius Black is his mum’s cousin and anyone from the ‘Ancient and Noble House of Black’,” she hooked her pinkies in the air when she said the title, “ought to have had a proper trial, but Black turning out to not be a traitor, I mean to’ve not betrayed the Potters like everyone thought, means that he _is_ a blood-traitor, so Draco’s…” she made a tangled, twisting gesture with her hands.

“…Sirius being my godfather doesn’t make me and Draco some sort of god-cousins, does it?” Harry asked, horrified by the thought.

“Only if you want it to,” Daphne said.

“ _No_ ,” Harry said.

“Did Pettigrew really escape, Harry?” Hermione asked, twisting her own fingers together nervously. Harry nodded, and her face fell. “Oh Harry, I’m _sorry!_ Professor Trelawney _warned_ me, she did a prophecy about the Dark Lord’s servant rejoining him during my exam, and I thought she was _faking_ , you know doing a big to-do for the final? It was just as melodramatic as everything else she says, even if her voice _did_ get all funny and I thought-”

“My mum calls prophecies ‘twaddle’,” Daphne said quietly, but Hermione didn’t hear, patting frantically at her robes.

“If I could just- I’d have to be careful about crossing lines- but if you don’t know where he _went-_ oh drat it all, I already gave it back!”

“You all right, Granger?” Adrian asked, as Daphne said “Gave what back?”

“My time-turner,” Hermione said glumly. “Professor McGonagall did _all_ this petitioning for me to have one this year, so I could take extra electives, but I gave it back last night.”

“Crookshanks went after him-” Harry started to say, filing _time-turner_ away as something to ask about later, and was interrupted by Madam Pomfrey bustling over with a large breakfast tray and a determined expression. Everyone else was chased out into the hallway, and when Harry was finally released, Adrian had vanished. Next to Hermione stood Ginny Weasley instead, arms crossed and brows furrowed.

“Potter,” she said. “Ron’s gone off to Hogsmeade with Neville saying he’s going to spend his birthday money on _soap_ , Fred and George are complaining about Higgs beating them to something in Professor Lupin’s office, and Percy’s setting up rat-traps all over Gryffindor Tower. Explain.”

“Do you ever get mixed up, keeping track of all your brothers?” Harry asked, relieved that the rumor mill had gotten word of Scabbers’ true identity to Ron already; he couldn’t imagine that conversation going well.

“ _Harry_ ,” Ginny snapped, at the same Hermione did. Daphne stifled a giggle. There was nothing for it then but to go outside where they’d be harder to overhear, and tell the tale. The four students settled down under a large tree some ways away from the courtyard, still in view of the main door. Crookshanks showed up a few minutes in, squashed face looking even more disgruntled than usual.

“Am I the _only_ one who figured that out?” Hermione said disbelievingly, when Harry got to the part about Lupin’s lycanthropy. Crookshanks meowed loudly, and she resumed petting him. “Honestly!”

“Well it’s not, I mean, people don’t…” Daphne trailed off nervously. “It’s really hard to believe? I mean Professor Lupin’s always been so _nice_ …”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Harry asked.

“Werewolves don’t…I mean they haven’t exactly…I mean…oh, just tell us what happened next?”

So Harry kept going, telling them about Sirius almost getting Snape killed back when they were in school, and Harry pulling Sirius away from the dementors (“And after all that time learning the Patronus Charm, too!” Hermione exclaimed) and then about trying to explain things to Snape and Dumbledore. He didn’t tell them about Adrian freeing Sirius, just saying he’d been really woozy on the long walk to the infirmary.

“I wonder how he got out…” Hermione said thoughtfully, as she scratched Crookshanks under his chin. “I mean, most Hogwarts windows are a _long_ way from the ground, even if you _can_ transform.” Harry shrugged, and reached out to pet the ginger cat himself.

“Professor, you _can’t leave!_ ”

Lupin strode quickly down from the front steps and across the lawn towards the gate-path, dragging his trunk behind him, grindylow tank tucked awkwardly under one arm; Terence was jogging to keep up with him. Daphne squeaked and ducked behind Ginny.

“Yet somehow I still seem to be,” Lupin said mildly. His forehead sported a broad bit of sticking plaster, and purple bandages inched out from under his sleeves, down his hands. Hermione gasped, and whispered half to herself “ _Oh_ , oh he hurt _himself_ with no one to bite, that’s awful…”

Adrian had followed behind at a slower pace, and stopped at the edge of the courtyard, watching this exchange with her hands in her pockets. Her uniform sleeves were rolled down to her wrists despite the summer heat, hiding her matching bandage.

“So you messed up last night,” Terence said, trying to catch Lupin’s arm. “It’s not the end of the world-”

“There are already letters calling for my resignation,” Lupin said, cutting across Terence’s protestations, walking faster. “And I placed all three of you in grave danger-”

“We were _already_ in grave danger,” Terence snapped back. “There was a mass murderer sleeping in the Gryffindor dorm _all year-_ ”

“Which we might have discovered sooner had I told Professor Dumbledore of the map,” Lupin said. Terence finally got ahead of him on the path, forcing him to stop, or try to dodge awkwardly around him.

“You didn’t even _have_ it-”

“I knew Filch confiscated it our last year,” Lupin said. He smiled mirthlessly. “It’s not as though I _knew_ the Weasley twins had liberated it from his care.”

“None of that’s a reason to leave!” Terence yelled. “Look, Harry would be _dead_ if you hadn’t taught us to fight dementors, I _know_ we all passed OWLs because of you-”

Lupin finally opted to dodge around Terence, starting back down the path faster. “None of that excuses-”

“Running away doesn’t fix anything!” Terence yelled after him. He didn’t bother chasing Lupin this time. “It doesn’t!” Terence stood there on the path, hands balled into fists, staring angrily until Lupin was around the bend and out of sight. He rubbed at his eyes, then grimaced upon spotting Harry and the girls watching him.

“You didn’t see that,” Terence said, pointing at them, voice cracking.

“See what?”

“Good.”

~~~

The Hogwarts Express pulled out of Hogsmeade on an achingly bright day, the June sun shining down from a clear blue sky. Harry pressed his nose against the window-glass to watch the wizarding town pull away, treasuring the last glimpse of the castle before the train rounded the bend. Hedwig dozed in her cage beside him, and Hermione idly stroked Crookshanks’ ruff on the opposite bench.

Harry had spent the past week re-telling the bare-bones story of that eventful full moon, as classmates came to him for rumor confirmation. Most of the student body considered the tale quite romantic; tragic Sirius Black, loyal to his childhood friends and horribly betrayed, wrongfully accused, punishing himself for his misplaced trust by staying in Azkaban. The break-out was now seen as a symbol of his loyalty to the Potters, to protect their only son, rather than a terrifying breach of prison security.

And Peter Pettigrew! A villain that the students seemed to enjoy hating; most of them gave a delighted sort of shiver when Harry said Pettigrew had been disguised as a familiar all this time, like they’d just heard the juiciest bit of a ghost story. Excepting the Gryffindors; they were all smelling rather strongly of soap and had slightly paler-black robes than the other houses from over-laundering. Percy Weasley twitched whenever he spotted someone with a pet rat on their shoulder.

Most of the questions had been exhausted before the End-of-Year Feast, but Harry was unsurprised when the door of the compartment slid open. He turned from the window, already wondering which particular question was going to be posed _this_ time (“Did Granger’s cat really catch Pettigrew?” “You sure you don’t know how Black got outta that locked room?” “Is Professor Lupin _really_ a werewolf, or is he some kinda wolf animagus?”) and was happily surprised to see Terence and Adrian standing there.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on patrol?” Hermione asked, as Adrian shut the door behind them.

“Yep,” Terence said. He pulled an old, worn bit of parchment from his robes. Handed it to Harry.

“You were supposed to do a flourish,” Adrian said. Terence punched her shoulder.

“Put your wand on it and say _I solemnly swear I am up to no good_ , okay?”

Harry did so. Green ink spread out underneath the tip of his wand in thin, curlique-handwriting, even loopier and more embellished than the get-well-soon card from Pansy and Tracey.

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_  
_Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers_  
_are proud to present_  
**THE MARAUDER’S MAP**

The last line was in different handwriting than the rest, a strong bold print that seemed to weigh down the parchment. As Harry watched, the title shimmied up to the top of the parchment, and more lines kept flowing from where Harry’s wand had rested, though he’d already pulled back. Shortly he and Hermione were peering down at an extremely detailed map of Hogwarts and the immediate grounds. Tiny black dots labelled with professors’ names moved around it.

“Lot more crowded on there yesterday,” Terence said. “Three guesses who made it. First two don’t count.”

Harry traced the names along the top, a grin spreading across his face as he tapped _Moony._ “Professor Lupin. No wonder he knew what it was.” His fingers skipped over _Wormtail,_ he’d seen Leofflaed enough to get _that_ reference. _Padfoot_ must be “...Sirius.”

“Gryffindors,” Adrian snorted. “Subtle lot, aren’t they?” Hermione huffed at this comment.

“And my dad,” Harry said. That’s who _Prongs_ had to be, didn’t it? They’d all been friends in school, become animagi together, and fought in the war. Had to be him.

“Yeah,” Terence said. “So. Uh. It’s yours.”

Harry jerked his head up from the map, stunned. “But _you’re_ the one who lifted it off the Weasleys, _and_ beat them to Professor Lupin’s office to get it back-”

“And I’ve had a great time with it!” Terence said, holding up his hands. “Been driving them nuts all week, popping up to stop pranks, they _know_ I’ve got it but they can’t tell any teachers or they’ll be in worse trouble than me. But, you know…” he smirked. “It’ll drive them right bug-fucki- er, sorry Granger. Drive them even _more_ nuts if they try to steal it back from me, and I don’t have it.”

Harry grinned as Adrian snickered. Now _that_ made sense.

“Oh, and you gotta tap it with your wand and say _mischief managed_ to make it go blank again,” Terence said, already turned back to the door to patrol the train. “Took me a couple days to figure that out.”

Terence ducked back out the door to resume patrolling, tugging on Adrian’s elbow to bring her with him. While Slytherin might be treating her almost-normally again, the rest of the school was still wary; Terence swore her lanky figure looming over his shoulder discouraged more trouble than ten prefects put together. Adrian returned by herself in the afternoon, when the snack trolley had long since passed. A few minutes late, Harry spotted something outside the train.

“Hm?” Hermione asked sleepily, rousing from her nap as Harry slid the window open.

“There’s an owl-” Harry stuck his head and shoulders out the window; Adrian grabbed the back of his robes and hauled him back inside just as he got his hands around the miniscule grey owl. It had been trying to tap at the window, but was so small it couldn’t get past the slipstream. Harry carefully pulled the letter from its mouth, and handed the owl to Adrian.

“Someone crossbreed a Scops Owl and a snidget?” Adrian asked, peering at it. Crookshanks sniffed the air curiously; Hermione gathered the cat close to her chest.

“It’s from Sirius,” Harry said. Hermione and Adrian crowded over his shoulders to read it.

_Dear Harry,_  
_I hope this finds you before you reach your aunt and uncle. I don’t know whether they’re used to owl post._  
_Shunpike assures me that the dementors have been withdrawn from Hogwarts, which means I won’t have to do my first plan of letting some Muggles see me somewhere far away, to give you all relief. I’m back in hiding. I won’t tell you where, in case this owl falls into the wrong hands. I have some doubt about his ability, but he is the best I could find so soon, and he did seem eager for the job. Please find a good home for him; Shunpike’s offered to get me a sturdier owl, covered under what he calls ‘incidental costs’._

“Ha, Ferdie _did_ get ahold of him,” Adrian said, sounding pleased. “That’s a sickle Terence owes me, he thought writing Ferdie about this mess was just an empty gesture.”

“Won’t corresponding with an attorney lead the Aurors straight to him?” Hermione asked, concerned.

“Nah, I asked Ferdie about that, and he’s got even more anti-tracking spells on his owls than Aunt Liwei,” Adrian said, waving one hand dismissively, the other still holding the small grey owl.

_It’s very odd having an attorney eager to work with me_ , the letter went on. _Most of the courts were either controlled by Voldemort during the war, or considered us vigilantes._ _  
_ _I’ve enclosed something to make your next school year more fun- and don’t worry, I really_ _am_ _your godfather, so it ought to work._

Harry slipped the second piece of paper from the envelope. _I, Sirius Black, Harry Potter’s godfather, hereby give him permission to visit Hogsmeade on weekends_. “Think Dumbledore’ll accept it?”

“He has to,” Hermione said. “It’s in the school rules, _any_ of a student’s guardians can grant permission for things, not just custodial ones.”

“Excellent,” Harry said, and carefully slid the permission form back into the envelope. It wouldn’t do to lose that before the fall.

_If you ever need me, send word. Your owl will find me._  
_I’ll write again soon._ _  
-Sirius._

Harry read the words again, the warm feeling they gave him sinking into his bones. Slowly, he folded the letter back up.

“What’re you gonna do with this, then?” Adrian asked, releasing the owl. It immediately began zipping around the compartment, hooting enthusiastically.

“D’you…” Harry started.

Adrian shook her head sadly. “Can you imagine the Aurors trying to snoop? Poor thing’d get squished.”

Harry turned to her Hermione, who shook her head with a sigh. “I’m afraid Crookshanks might...well. Cats. Birds.”

“He gets on with Hedwig though…”

“Hedwig’s his size.”

“Size…” Adrian trailed off, watching the owl bounce off the walls. She grinned. “Tiny owl. Tiny Weasley.”

“Give him to Ginny?”

“Yeah.”

This proved to be the best possible choice. “He’s so _cute!_ ” Ginny squealed in such a high voice that the other second-years in her compartment covered their ears.

“Like a puffskein?” Harry asked.

“Definitely like a puffskein,” Ginny agreed.

“Then he’s yours,” Harry said, and ducked out into the corridor before the resulting shriek of happiness could blow out his eardrums. An hour or so later, on the far side of the King’s Cross barrier, he saw Ginny carefully clutching her hat to her chest as she reunited with her parents. The hat hooted.

Uncle Vernon was waiting alone some five feet from the Weasleys, with an expression as though he was trying to politely ignore a foul smell, but by god someone had better open a window soon, or so help him!

“Stick with Granger for a minute, would you?” Adrian said, and pushed Harry towards Hermione (standing on a bench to scan the crowd for her own parents) before he could respond. “Got some delicate negotiations to handle.”

Harry wheeled his trunk over, Hedwig making small sleepy noises inside her cage, and joined Hermione on the bench. From that vantage, he saw the Weasleys making their way towards the exit, happily chatting, while Adrian talked very rapidly and made a lot of gestures that were slowly turning Vernon’s face purple.

“Oh, you must be Harry!”

“Mum, Dad!” Hermione flung herself off the bench to hug her parents. Harry awkwardly stepped down to shake their hands, and spent a few minutes discussing Hedwig, who had flown between Hogwarts and their house quite a lot. Adrian reappeared by the time the Grangers whisked Hermione away.

“All set to pick you up in August,” Adrian said, cracking her knuckles. Still standing stiffly in the distance, Vernon had gone from purple faced to blotchy white-and-red. “Keep writing weekly, all right, pipsqueak? I’ll need Hedwig to send the finalized Cup itinerary.”

“How’d he take the idea of you, er, picking me up in person?” Harry asked.

“Not well.” Adrian grinned meanly. “Seemed to think that made the let-your-owl-fly-free deal a bad faith agreement, since it was to _stop_ me showing up. He’s rather keen to get you out of the house early though, so that helped.” She reached out and ruffled Harry’s hair. “Think mentioning my cousin’s best mate is a legal counselor really tipped the scales.”

Harry put one hand over the pocket of his jeans, crinkling the letter from Sirius, and grinned right back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we mark the series ‘completed’. I have loved this universe, but now need to bow out and focus on other work. When I first started, I wasn’t even sure I’d make it through Philosopher’s Stone, though I hoped to tackle Chamber of Secrets as well. Retelling all the way through Prisoner of Azkaban was a major success. Thank you all for reading, for leaving kudos and comments, and sharing this adventure with me.


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